Tramping with tramps; studies and sketches of vagabond life

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Tramping
With Tramps

Tramping
With Tramps

STUDIES AND SKETCHES
OF VAGABOND LIFE

By

Josiah Flynt

With Prefatory Note by
Hon. Andrew D. White

L'

,•0-00.

4

New York
The Century Co

1907

SEETBY

PRESERVATION

SERVICES

DATE

Copyright, 189a, 1894, 1895, 1899,
by The Century Co.

Copyright, 1894, 1895, by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

Copyright, 1897, by the Forum Publiahing Co.
Copyright, 1895, 1896, 1897, by Harper & Brothera.

-^ NOV 1 7 1967 ^^

The DeVinne Press.

TO

MY MOTHER

Embassy of the United States of America,
Berlin, April 19, 1899.

Dear Mr. Flynt :

Your letter of March 27 and accompanying articles
have greatly interested me.

As you know, I consider the problems furnished
by crime in the United States as of the most press-
ing importance. We are allowing a great and
powerful criminal class to be developed, and while
crime is held carefully in check in most European
countries, and in them is steadily decreasing, with
us it is more and more flourishing, increases from
year to year, and in various ways asserts its power
in society.

So well is this coming to be known by the crimi-
nal classes of Europe that it is perfectly well under-
stood here that they look upon the United States as
a " happy hunting-ground," and more and more
seek it, to the detriment of our country and of all
that we hold most dear in it.

It seems to me that the publication of these arti-
cles in book form will be of great value, as well as of
fascinating interest to very many people.
Yours faithfully,

Andrew D. White,

Mr. Josiah Flynt,

AUTHOR'S NOTE

During my university studies in Berlin I saw my
fellow-students working in scientific laboratories to
discover the minutest parasitic forms of life, and later
publishing their discoveries in book form as valuable
contributions to knowledge. In writing on what I
have learned concerning human parasites by an ex-
perience that may be called scientific in so far as it
deals with the subject on its own ground and in its
peculiar conditions and environment, I seem to myself
to be doing similar work with a like purpose. This is
my apology, if apology be necessary, for a book which
attempts to give a picture of the tramp world, with
incidental reference to causes and occasional sugges-
tion of remedies.

A majority of the papers in this volume have ap-
peared in the " Century Magazine." Thanks are due
to Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for permission to reprint
'' The Children of the Road " and '' Old Boston Mary,"
published in the " Atlantic Monthly " ; to Harper &
Brothers for similar permission in regard to the papers
entitled " Jamie the Kid " and " Club Life among
Outcasts," published in ^' Harper's Monthly Magazine,"
and " What the Tramp Eats and Wears " and " One
Night on the ^Q,'" which appeared in '' Harper's
Weekly." To the Forum Publishing Company I am
indebted for permission to reprint from the " Forum "
the paper called " The Criminal in the Open."

JosiAH Flynt.
ix

CONTENTS

PART I — STUDIES

PAGE

I. THE CRIMINAL IN THE OPEN 1

II. THE CHILDREN OF THE ROAD 28

Ul. CLUB LIFE AMONG OUTCASTS 67

IV. THE AMERICAN TRAMP CONSIDERED GEOGRAPHI-
CALLY 91

V. THE CITY TRAMP 113

VI. WHAT THE TRAMP EATS AND WEARS . . .137

PART II -TRAVELS

L LIFE AMONG GERMAN TRAMPS 169

II. WITH THE RUSSIAN GORIOUNS .... 200

III. TWO TRAMPS IN ENGLAND 229

rV. THE TRAMP AT HOME 267

V. THE TRAMP AND THE RAILROADS . . . .291

xi

xii Contents

PART III — SKETCHES

PAOB

I. OLD BOSTON MARY 317

II. JAMIE THE KID 336

III. ONE NIGHT ON THE "Q" 355

IV. A PULQUE DREAM 366

V. A HOBO PRECEDENT 372

PART IV — THE TRAMPS JARGON

THE TRAMP'S JARGON 381

GLOSSARY 392

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

JOSIAH FLYNT, ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA, AUGUST

8, 1897 Frontispiece

PAGE

DISCOURAGED CRIMINALS 15

THE MODE OF TRAVEL THAT ATTRACTS BOYS . 35

YOUTHFUL TRESPASSERS 51

TELLING ''GHOST-STORIES" 59

A GATHERING OF "OLD BUCKS" 73

MIDNIGHT 87

A "TIMBER LESSON" 101

TOMATO-CAN TRAMPS 115

A CITY TRAMP AT WORK 125

A WESTERN ROADSTER U9

AN AUCTION 157

THE FOURTH-CLASS CAR 173

HUNTING FOR HIS PASS 179

ON THE ROAD 187

DANCING AROUND A BONFIRE 193

SLEEPING IN A BARN 209

A LODGING-HOUSE 223

AN ENGLISH TYPE . . 235

xiii

xiv List of Illustrations

PAGE

A MOOCHER .... 245

A REST BY THE WAYSIDE 257

A DIVISION 275

ASLEEP IN A FREIGHT-CAR 283

RIDING ON THE BUMPERS 295

A BRAKEMAN OF A FREIGHT-TRAIN COLLECTING

FARES 305

A TRAMPS' DEPOT 311

OLD BOSTON MARY'S SHANTY ..... 327

OLD BOSTON MARY 335

BEATING A PASSENGER-TRAIN 343

A RIDE ON A TRUCK 357

PART I
STUDIES

PART I
STUDIES

PAOB

I. The Criminal in the Open ..... 1

II. The Children of the Road . ... 28

III. Club Life among Outcasts 67

IV. The American Tramp Considered Geograph-

ically 91

V. The City Tramp 113

VI. What the Tramp Eats and Wears . . . 137

Tramping with Tramps

PART I— STUDIES

THE CRIMINAL IN THE OPEN

UP to the present time the criminal has been
studied exclusively behind prison-bars, after he
has been caught, tried, and convicted. Out of durance
he is his own master, and is naturally averse to being
measured and experimented upon by scientists ; hence
the criminologist has been forced to await the almost
certain vicissitudes which bring him once more inside
a prison-cell. Here he has been subjected to the most
minute examinations ; and there exists a bulky litera-
ture on the results which these examinations have
brought to light. We have volumes, for instance,
about the criminal's body, skull, and face, his whim-
sical and obscene writings on prison-walls, the effect
of various kinds of diet on his deportment, the work-
ings of delicate instruments, placed on his wrists, to
test the beat of his pulse under various conditions,
1 1

2 Tramping with Tramps

the stories lie has been persuaded to tell about his life,
his mauuderings when under the influence of hypno-
tism, and numerous things, anthropological and psy-
chological, which have been noted down, compared,
and classified.

Out of this mass of information, gathered in great
part by prison doctors and other prison officials, the
conclusion has been drawn that the criminal is a more
or less degenerate human being. There are differ-
ences of opinion in regard to the degree of his degen-
eracy ; but all investigators agree upon the main fact,
while some go so far as to claim that he is abnormally
deficient in mental and moral aptitudes, and, in a large
number of instances, should be in an insane asylum
rather than in a penitentiary. Human justice recoils
from a severe treatment of the man who, though an
outbreaking sinner, bears evidence of being sinned
against as well as sinning ; and yet, before we can safely
fall in with this view, we must carefully consider the
theory on which it is based, and its claims to a scien-
tific foundation.

The first question with which to begin a scientific in-
vestigation of this sort is, it seems to me, this : " Where
may we hope to find the criminal in his most natural
state of body and mind — in confinement, a balked
and disappointed man, or in the open, faring forth on
his plundering errands, seeking wbom and what he
may devour ? " That he should be studied when under-
going punishment goes without saying; but I claim
that imprisonment should be considered rather as an
incident in his existence than its normal sphere, and
that, because it has not been so regarded, we have to-

The Criminal in the Open 3

day a distorted view of the criminal and an illogical
tendency in penology.

It is now more than a decade since I became ac-
quainted with tramps. My purpose in seeking them
out was to learn about their life ; and I soon saw that,
to know it well, I must become joined to it and be part
and parcel of its various manifestations. At different
times during this period,— some of them lengthening
out into months,— I have lived intimately with the
vagabonds of both England and the United States.
In the tramp class, or so near it that the separation is
almost imperceptible, are to be found any number of
criminals associating freely, either for purposes of
business or sociability, with their less ambitious
brethren. In nearly every large city of the two
countries mentioned I know something about them,
and in not a few instances I have succeeded in be-
coming well acquainted with notorious members of
their class. My desire is to tell of the impression
they make on one who studies them in their own hab-
itat, that I may be able to show how different is
the outdoor criminal from his convicted brother
shut in behind prison-bars.

I MUST first note the species of criminal that I have
met in the open. Lombroso and other investigators
classify the cases they have studied as political, in-
stinctive, occasional, habitual, and professional; but,
so far as my finding is concerned, only one class is of
any great importance— the professional. That there

4 Tramping with Tramps

are also instinctive criminals, as well as occasional,
I am well aware ; but they form a very small part
of that outcast world that I know best, and cannot
be taken as definitely representative of it. It is the
man who wilfully and knowingly makes a business of
crime or is experimenting with it from commercial
motives that I have found in largest numbers ^' on the
road " ; and it is he, I believe, who appears of tenest in
our criminal courts. To be sure, he tries to make out
that he is not a wilful offender, and often succeeds in
convincing a jury that he is not ; but this is due to his
cleverness and trained abilities.

Contrary to a more or less popular opinion, I must
also say that the criminals I am acquainted with are
not such because they are unable to keep body and
soul together in any other way. The people who go
into crime for this reason are far less numerous than
is generally supposed. It is true that they come, as a
rule, from the poverty-stricken districts of our large
cities, and that the standard of life in these districts,
particularly for families, is pitifully low ; but a single
person can live in them far more easily than the philan-
thropists think. The necessaries of life, for instance,
can be had by simply begging; and this is the way
they are found by the majority of people who are not
willing to work for them. The criminal, however,
wants the luxuries of life as well ; he seeks gold and
the most expensive pleasures that gold can buy ; and
to get them he preys upon those who have it. He
thinks that if all goes well he may become an aristo-
crat ; and having so little to lose and so much to gain,
he deliberately takes his chances.

The Criminal in the Open 5

I must say furthermore that those criminals who are
known to me are not, as is also popularly supposed,
the scum of their environment. On the contrary, they
are above their environment, and are often gifted with
talents which would enable them to do well in any
class, could they only be brought to realize its respon-
sibilities and to take advantage of its opportunities.
The notion that the criminal is the lowest type of his
class in society arises from a false conception of that
class and of the people who compose it. According to
my experience, they are mainly paupers; and they
have been such so long, and are so obtuse and unac-
customed to anything better, even in the United States,
tha,t they seldom make any serious effort to get out of
their low condition. Indeed, I think it can be said
that the majority of them are practically as happy and
contented in their squalor and poverty as is the aris-
tocrat in his palace. In Whitechapel as well as in the
worst parts of New York, for example, I have met en-
tire families who could not be persuaded to exchange
places with the rich, provided the exchange carried
with it the duties and manners which wealth presup-
poses ; they even pity the rich, and express wonder at
their contentment " in such a strait-jacket life."

In this same class, however, there are some who are
born with ambitions, tind who have energy enough to
try to fulfil them. These break away from class con-
ditions ; but, unfortunately, the ladder of respectable
business has no foothold in their environment. No
one of their acquaintance has gone springing up its
rounds in tempting promotions ; and although the city
missionary tells them that there are those who thus

6 Tramping with Tramps

succeed, tliey will not believe him— or, rather, they pre-
fer to believe the, to them, far more probable stories
of success which they read in the ^' Police Gazette " and
the '^ Criminal Calendar." Most of them know per-
fectly well that the success thus portrayed is the re-
sult of law-breaking, and that they will be punished
if caught trying to achieve it ; but it is a choice be-
tween the miserable slum, which they hate, and pos-
sible wealth, which they covet, and they determine to
run the risk.

Not all of these ambitious ones are endowed with an
equal amount of energy. Some are capable only of
tramp life, which, despite its many trials and vicissi-
tudes, is more attractive than the life they seek to
escape. Those with greater energy go into crime
proper; and they may be called, mentally as well as
physically, the aristocracy of their class. This is my
analysis of the majority of the criminal men and
women I have encountered in the open, and I believe
it will hold good throughout their entire class.

Concerning their nationalities, I must say that most
of them are indigenous to the countries in which they
live. In this country it is often said that foreigners
are the main offenders, and a great deal has been
written about the dumping of European criminals
on American shores ; but the main offenders, in the
open at least, are natives, and are generally of Irish-
American parentage. In England, unmixed blood is
a little more noticeable. Ireland is said to be the least
criminal land in all Europe, and this may be the case
so far as local crime is concerned ; but more criminals
trace their ancestry back to that country than to any

The Criminal in the Open 7

other where English is spoken. Indeed, in America
it is considered something quite out of the ordinary if
the criminal cannot attach himself somehow or other
to the '^ Emerald Isle " ; and nothing has hindered me
more in my intercourse with him than the fact that
my own connection with it is very slight.

In regard to the ages of the criminals I have met,
it is difficult to write definitely 5 but the average, I
think, is between twenty-five and thirty years. The
sex is predominantly masculine. For every female
criminal I have found twenty males ; and the propor-
tion in the United States is even higher. It cannot,
however, be inferred tha,t the women of the same
original environment are less ambitious than the men ;
but they take to the street, instead of to crime, to sat-
isfy their love of high living, and they hope to find
there the same prizes that their brothers are seeking
by plunder. It is a mistake to say that all these
women are driven to the street by the pangs of hun-
ger. A great many are no doubt thus impelled ; but
I believe there are multitudes who are there merely to
satisfy their ambitious and luxurious tastes.

As the degeneration of the criminal is said by the
criminologists to be physical, mental, and moral, I
shall take up the subject, as it pertains to the criminals
I have studied, from these different points of view.

It has of course been impossible for me, a fellow-
traveler with tramps and but a casual observer of
criminals, to conduct my investigations as scientific

8 Tramping with Tramps

observers of prison specimens have done. I have not
been permitted, for instance, to measure their skulls ;
neither have I been able to weigh them, to inspect
their teeth and palates, nor even to test their pulse
under excitement. It has been possible for me, how-
ever, to study their countenances, to get acquainted
with their type, as it is called, and to compare it, as I
have seen it in the open day, with its pictorial repre-
sentation in books and pamphlets. As a rule, these
pictures are very different from the type that I know.
Only in a few cases have they ever approximated to
the truth; and why artists have given us such as
their models is more than 1 can understand. In New
York I once showed a criminal one of these carica-
tures and asked what he thought of it. He replied,
'^ Why, I would n't be found dead lookin' like that ! "
—a sentiment which I consider both justified and rep-
resentative. The trouble is that writers about crime
have usually picked out as illustrations for their books
the very worst specimens possible ; and the public has
been led to consider these as true representatives of the
entire class. A retreating forehead, for example, and
the most depraved expressions of the eyes and mouth
are to-day considered typical stigmata of the criminal's
face. The majority of those that I am acquainted
with, particularly those under thirty years of age, if
well dressed, could pass muster in almost any class of
society; and I doubt very much whether an uniniti-
ated observer would be able to pick them out for what
they are. After thirty years of age, and sometimes
even younger, they do acquire a peculiar look ; but,
instead of calling it a criminal look, in the sense that

The Criminal in the Open g

the instinctive offender is criminal, I should describe
it as that of a long resident in a penitentiary. Prison
life, if taken in large doses and often enough, will give
the most moral men in the world prison features ; and
it is no wonder that men who make a business of
crime and are so much in prison possess them. Even
men who are busied in the detection of crime have
more or less similar facial characteristics. I have
never met a detective who had been long in the ser-
vice that did not have some features or habits common
to the criminals he was engaged in hunting down ;
and I know several detectives who have been taken
for criminals by criminals, simply because of their
looks.

In regard to other abnormalities, such as absence
of hair on the face, remarkable eyesight, length of
certain fingers, insensibility to pain, unusual develop-
ment of the lower jaw, high cheek-bones, fixed eyes,
projecting ears, and stooping shoulders, which are said
to differentiate the criminal from the ordinary human
being, I can only report that I have not found them
to be any more noticeable in the criminal class than
among normal people. In the majority of cases the
criminal can grow a beard, and is glad that he can do
so. Without this ability to change his looks he would
be greatly handicapped in his business ; and, as I know
him, he usually has a beard once in two years. It has
been said that his habit of tattooing is evidence of his
obtuseness to pain ; but it is not easy to see why. At
the worst, it is not a trying ordeal ; and the little
suffering that it does occasion is as much felt by the
criminal as by any one else. Moreover, those that I

10 Tramping with Tramps

know are not so prone to be tattooed as is reported.
Indeed, it is considered a mistake to have marks on
the body, for they naturally aid detection.

On all these questions of the senses, criminologists
have relied altogether on what the criminal himself has
told them. They give him something to taste or
smell, or prick him with a needle, and his reply is
noted down as scientific evidence. How do they know
that he has not some object in view in telling them
what he does ? He may want to appear degenerated
or queer, or is perhaps simply mischievous and says
the first thing that comes into his head. Until instru-
ments have been invented which can discover the
truth quite independently of the criminal's personal
testimony, nothing really positive can be known con-
cerning whatever freaks of the senses may have been
wrought in the criminal's organization.

The general health of the criminal is good. Up to
twenty-five years of age he is as hardy and vigorous
as the average person. Although he comes from the
slums, he gets somehow a very fair constitution ; and
if he would only take care of it, he might live to a
good old age. When he nears his thirtieth year, how-
ever, his strength and vigor begin to fail him. By
that time he has served a number of terms in prison,
and it is this existence that drags him down. In the
open he seems able to endure a great deal and still
keep his health ; but behind the bars, care for him as
the penologists will, he weakens and withers away.
This side of his life has scarcely received the attention
it deserves from investigators who find the criminal
diseased. That he becomes diseased must be readily

The Criminal in the Open 11

admitted ; but, as a rule, it is only after society has
shut him up in its penal institutions. Stand, for in-
stance, at the doors of one of these institutions when
a ten-year convict is released, and see how he looks,
I once did this; and a worse wreck of a formerly
strong man I have never encountered — a being ruined
in both body and mind, a victim of passions which in
the open he would have abhorred.

There is no better proof that it is the prison, and
not his life and business, that makes the criminal dis-
eased than that furnished by tramps. These men live
almost entirely in the open, and, as a general rule, have
a harder life than a criminal; yet they are about the
healthiest people in the world. In the United States it
is one of their superstitions that they simply cannot
die, like other men, of disease, but have to be killed.
This is what happens to a great many of them. They
fall from freight-trains at night, or are found starved
to death, locked fast in a box-car on some distant side-
track.

m

Finding the criminal diseased and abnormal physi-
cally, it is only natural that investigators should have
found him equally abnormal in mind ; but this, too, I
have not discovered.

Lack of will-power, for example, is one of the first
delinquencies noted in criminology; and yet out of
prison and in the open, the will is one of the criminal's
strongest points. Most of them have enough of it, at
least while they are young, to satisfy any one ; and
could they but be brought to use it in honest indus-

1 2 Tramping with Tramps

try, they might become the most successful people in
the world. The trouble is that they will do the things
which society considers and punishes as crime. They
think that they can '' get on " faster in their profession
than in any other; and they bend every energy to
achieve their ambition. Because this ambition is so
flatly contradictory to what is upright and honest, it
is common, not only among criminologists, but with
the general public as well, to speak of the criminal as
one weak of will. I think this is one of the greatest
mistakes in psychology. Napoleon I, for instance,
was instrumental, directly or indirectly, in the deaths
of nearly two million people, and was one of the most
unscrupulously ambitious human beings that have
ever lived ; yet his passes for one of the strongest wills
the world has known. The unimperial criminal, on
the other hand, if he be unsuccessful, is catalogued by
prison psychologists as a pathological specimen sim-
ply because he wills to do wrong.

This strange classification is doubtless to be ac-
counted for on the ground that the criminal in prison
has been taken to be the natural criminal. Behind the
bars he does indeed become somewhat volatile, and
finds it hard to concentrate his mind ; but this is due
to imprisonment and its harassing trials rather than
to innate deficiency. The strongest of wills would
deteriorate under such conditions, and perhaps even
more rapidly than that of the criminal who, from the
very nature of his trade, expects and plans for a cer-
tain amount of exile.

The charge of impatience, which is so often brought
against him, may be explained in the same way j and

The Criminal in the Open 13

the tramps are again good illustrations. As a class
they are the most patient people imaginable, and are
able to endure pleasantly any amount of ruffling
circumstances. Where, for example, is there a calmer
and more stoical human being than the American
''hobo," waiting tlirough rain or shine at the railway
watering-tank for the freight-train that shall carry him
farther on the road ? He will stay there for days, if
necessary, rather than pay the regular fare on the pas-
senger-trains ; and nothing arouses his scorn more >
than the dilettante, or '' gay-cat," as he calls him, who /
gives up waiting and buys a regulation ticket. The
criminal, after a certain age, often lacks this ability to
hang on ; but his nerves and general equipoise have
been disturbed by imprisonment. Even the tramp is
a less patient person in county jails than he is in the
open ; but his stay there is so short, and the confine-
ment, compared with that in convict prisons, is so
much easier to bear, that he soon recuperates. I can
write from personal experience on this point ; for, as
an American tramp, I have had to take my share of
jail life, and I have never been so nervous and im- /
patient as when undergoing it. In the open, on the
other hand, I have never been so healthy and under
control. If a few days' confinement can have such an
effect upon an absolutely voluntary prisoner, what
must be the effect of years of this sort of life upon the
man who hates prison as he does poison, and is not
sure that when he is released an officer may not be
waiting to read him a warrant for another arrest?
Criminologists who believe in the innate nervous
weakness of the criminal would do well to test their

1^ Tramping with Tramps

own nerves during even voluntary residence in prison-
cells in order to estimate their power to disturb a
natural equilibrium.

It is also said that the criminal is more or less an
epileptic. Lombroso makes a great deal of this sup-
position; and there are other students of the subject
who go quite as far as he does. I have never met a
pure epileptic criminal on the road, and I cannot re-
vcall having heard the subject discussed by tramps
or criminals in any way that would lead me to be-
lieve the disorder at all common among them. Among
tramps a favorite trick is to feign epilepsy; and I
have seen it done with a fidelity to the '* real thing "
that was remarkable. Whether or not criminals also
feign in prison, I am not prepared to say ; but if
they are as clever as tramps at it, I can well believe
that they might deceive even the very elect among
specialists.

I have also failed to find insanity common among
criminals. Among those under twenty-five years of
age, I have never known one clear case ; and the few
cases that I have known after that period have been
men who have had long sentences in prison, and whose
confinement, I have no doubt, has had much to do with
their mental derangement.

There is no better evidence of the criminal's ability
to reason than the fact that, the minute he is convinced
that crime does not pay, he gives it up. Even at the
start he is not sure that it will pay ; but, as I have
said, having so little to lose and so much to gain, he
takes his chances. After a time, long or short accord-
ing to his success, he generally comes to the conclu-

The Criminal in the Open 17

sion that it does not pay, or at least that he lacks the
wit to make it successful ; and he drops it, becoming
what I call a discouraged criminal. There is a differ-
ence of opinion among criminals as to how much im-
prisonment is necessaiy to convince a man that he is
not getting his fair share of the prizes of his profes-
sion ; but, so far as I have been able to make inquiries,
I should say that between ten and fifteen years are
enough to frighten the average man out of the busi-
ness. Some stick to it with even twenty years spent
behind the bars ; but they are generally those who have
been uncommonly successful in making large catches,
and have risked *' just one more job '' in order to win
the '' great stake " that is to make them rich.

The main reason why the criminal is afraid to go
beyond the fifteen-year limit is that, after that time,
unless he be an uncommonly clever man, he is likely
to get what is called ^^ the shivers "—one of the weird-
est disorders to which the human body ever yields.
Men describe it differently ; but, by all accounts, the
victim is possessed by such a terror of capture that
each member of his body is in a constant tremor.
Instances have been known where, owing to a sud-
den attack of this shivering palsy, he has had to quit
a ''job" that was almost finished. If these fits once
become customary the man is unqualified for any kind
of work ever after, and usually ends his life in the
lowest class of the outcasts' world — the "tomato-can
tramp class."

It is interesting to note where criminals draw the
dividing-line between success and failure. Generally
speaking, they consider a man fairly successful if be-

i8 Tramping with Tramps

tween imprisonments he gets a " vacation," as they call
it, of eight or ten mouths, and is lucky enough during
this period to make sufficient ^' hauls" to compensate
him for the almost inevitable punishment that follows.
The understanding, of course, in all this is that he gets
the benefit, either in carousals or more practical in-
vestments, of the money he has been lucky enough to
win. As a rule, however, the plunder usually goes in
debauches, and very quickly, too ; but the criminal al-
ways hopes to recoup himself by a great stake which is
to be put away in safety. If he be a man of average
criminal wit and experience, particularly the latter, he
can frequently secure the vacation of eight months for
a number of years. But the more confinement he suf-
fers the more reckless he becomes, and the less able to
think carefully ; and there are a gi'eat many men who
soon find that even six months is the most that they
can count on. This time, however, is not enough,
as a rule, for the hauls necessary to offset the ex-
pected term in prison 5 and the criminal is usually
clever enough to get out of the business. He then
bids good-by to his more tenacious brethren and joins
the tramp class, where he is made welcome by others
who have joined it before him. He becomes a tramp
because it is the career that comes nearest to the one
he hoped to do well in. Besides affording consider-
able amusement, it also permits the discouraged man
to keep track of the comrades whom he used to know
in the higher walks of outlawry 5 and this is an at-
traction not to be overlooked.

It is usual to classify the criminal according to the
crimes he commits. One classification, for example,

The Criminal in the Open 19

makes murderers the least intelligent; vagabonds,
sexual offenders, and highwaymen a little more soj
while the fraudulent class, pickpockets and burglars,
are accounted the most gifted of all. I think this a
fair division and one that will generally hold good ;
but I have found that criminals who commit crimes
against property, or the fraudulent class, are far and
away in the majority. Their native intelligence will
compare favorably with that of the average run of
people ; and I have been unable to discover any men-
tal defects until they have been a long time in prison.
Nearly all of them can read and write very well in-
deed ; and there are many who have read far more
than the ordinary business man. I have met men,
very low-born men too, who, while in prison, have
read through more volumes of philosophy and history
than even the usual college student can boast in his
reading ; and they have been able to converse very
wisely on these subjects. These same men have ac-
quired the rudiments of their studies in reformatory
and industrial institutions, and have succeeded in con-
tinuing them in the libraries of penitentiaries. I know
one criminal who in his prison-cell informed himself
about a branch of chemistry simply for purposes of
business : he was thought at the time to be more or
less crazy.

Prison officials are often deceived by criminals in
regard to their acquirements in learning. In many
prisons, diligence and progress in study earn as much
promotion as general good conduct does ; and as the
average prisoner has every reason to desire the bene-
fits which promotions bring with them, he tries after

20 Tramping with Tramps

a fashion to progress. But what is this fashion?
Very frequently this: On his arrival at the prison,
instead of telling the truth to the officials who quiz
him about his abilities, he says that he does not even
know the alphabet, and is consequently given very
light mental work. He is thus able to advance rapidly,
and his teachers pride themselves on his quickness to
learn and their ability to teach. Ere long he gets into
a better class, and so on until he has enjoyed all the
benefits which precocity can earn. There are other
men who profess ignorance in order to appear simple
and unknowing, and thus create the impression that
they are not so guilty as they are taken to be. Many
times and in many cases the criminal is a little clev-
erer than the people who are examining him ; and one
cannot set a high value on statistics concerning his
intelligence. If the student of criminology could and
/ would eavesdrop for a while at some ^'hang-out" in
the open, and hear the criminal's own account of the
way he is investigated, he might learn '^foxier "meth-
ods of dealing with his subject.

One other fact belongs properly to this division :
The professional criminal is not, in his own class, the
revolutionary creature that he seems when preying
upon the classes above him. His attitude toward so-
ciety in general is without doubt disrespectful and
anarchistic, and it is usually immaterial to him what
happens to society as such, so long as he can make
a " stake " ; but in his own environment he is one of
the most conservative of human beings. There is no
class, for instance, where old age and mature opinion
receive more respect and carry more weight ; and, as a

The Criminal in the Open 21

general thing, the young men in it— the radical ele-
ment—are expected to take a back seat. At a hang-
out gathering they must always show deference to
the older men, and nothing is so severely judged
as " freshness " on their part.

I think this is a characteristic of the criminal that
might be turned to good account if he should ever be
won over to respectable living : in affairs of the State,
provided he had a fair share of this world's goods, he
would be found invariably on the conservative rather
than on the radical side.

IV

I COME now to the question of the criminal's moral
responsibility. Can he be held definitely answerable
for his evil-doing, or is he morally insane and unable
to distinguish between right and wrong? The in-
stinctive criminal must be irresponsible, and his
treatment should be such as we give to insane people.
As I know him, he cannot help his criminal actions ;
it is in him to do them ; and the only merciful thing
is to put him where he at least cannot continue his
depredations on society, and where, if cure be possi-
ble, he may be in the hands of specialists best fitted to
help him. But, as I said at the outset, he is not the
sort of criminal that I have found in largest numbers
in the open. It is the commercial criminal that pre-
dominates there j and, as a rule, he can be held re-
sponsible for his evil-doing.

It is often said that his lack of remorse for his
crimes proves him to be morally incompetent; but

22 Tramping with Tramps

this opinion is founded on insufficient knowledge of
his life. He has two systems of morality : one for his
business, and the other for the hang-out. The first
is this : '' Society admits that the quarrel with me is
over after I have served out my sentence j and I, nat-
urally enough, take the same view of the matter. It
is simply one of take and pay. I take something from
society and give in exchange so many years of my life.
If I come out ahead, so much the better for me ; if
society comes out ahead, so much the worse for me,
and there is no use in whimpering over the transac-
tion." So long as he remains in the business he thinks
it only fair to " stick up for it" ; and he dislikes and
will not associate with men who denounce it in public.
This is his attitude toward the world at large. He
puts on a bold front, and, as he himself says, ^^ nerves "
the thing through. In the bosom of his hang-out,
however,— and this is where we ought to study his
ethics,— he is a very different man. His code of
morals there will compare favorably with that of
any class of society ; and there is no class in which
fair dealing is more seriously preached, and unfair
dealing more severely condemned. The average crim-
inal will stand by a fellow-craftsman through thick
and thin ; and the only human being he will not tol-
erate is the one who turns traitor. The remorse of
this traitor when brought to bay by his former breth-
ren I have never seen exceeded anywhere. It was my
fate some years ago, while living with tramps, to be
lodged in a jail where one of the prisoners was a
''State's evidence" witness. He had been released
from prison by promising to tell tales on an old man,—

The Criminal in the Open 23

who was supposed to be the main culprit in the crime
in question,— and was lodging in the jail until the
trial was over. Unfortunately for him, some of the
prisoners had known him prior to this episode in his
career ; and they sent him to Coventry so completely
that his life in the jail became unbearable, and he al-
most died ere he could give his testimony. At night
we could hear him groaning in his sleep as if he were
undergoing the most fearful torture, and in the day-
time he slunk around the corridors like a whipped
dog. He lived to give his evidence in the trial,
and was released from durance ; but a few days later
he was found dead by his own hand. When the in-
mates of the jail heard of his fate they relented a lit-
tle in their hatred of him ; but the final opinion was
that suicide was the best solution of the problem.

It is thought by criminologists that the good fel-
lowship of the criminal is due to self-preservation and
the fear that each man will hang separately if all do
not hang together. They maintain that his good
feeling is not genuine and spontaneous emotion, and
that it is immaterial what happens to a ''pal" so long
as he himself succeeds. This is not my experience in
his company. He has never had the slightest intima-
tion that I would return favors that he did me; and
in the majority of instances he has had every reason
to know that it was not in my power to show him the
friendliness he wanted. Yet he has treated me with
an altruism that even a Tolstoi might admire. At the
hang-out I have been hospitably entertained on all
occasions ; and I have never met a criminal there who
would not have given me money or seen me through

24 Tramping with Tramps

a squabble, had I needed his assistance and he was
able to give it. This same comradeship is noticeable
in all his relations with men who are in the least con-
nected with his life and business ; and it is a notori-
ous fact that he will " divvy " his last meal with a pal.
To have to refuse the request of one of his fellows, or
to do him an unkindness, is as much regretted by the
criminal as by any one else ; and I have never known
him to tell me a lie or to cheat me or to make fun of
me behind my back.

There are also some things in his relations with the
outside world which, in his heart of hearts, he regrets
and repents of as much as he does the misdeeds in his
own world. He always feels bad, for instance, when
he takes money from the poor. It sometimes happens
in his raids that he makes mistakes and gets into the
wrong house, or has been deceived about the wealth of
his victims ; and if he discovers that he has robbed a
poor man, or one who cannot conveniently bear the
loss, he is ashamed and never enjoys the plunder thus
won. He is too near the poor, in both birth and sen-
timent, not to feel remorse for such an action ; and I
have known him to send back money after he has dis-
covered that the person from whom he took it needed
it more than he.

The taking of life is another deed that he regrets
far more than he has been given credit for. One
thinks of the criminal as the man who has no respect
for life, as one who takes it without any twitchings of
conscience ; but this is not the general rule. The
business criminal never takes a life, if he can help it ;
and when he does, he expects, in court, to receive the

The Criminal In the Open 25

death -penalty. Indeed, he beheves, as a rule, that
murder deserves capital punishment ; and I have often
heard him express wonder at the lightness of the pen-
alties which murderers receive.

At the hang-out a favorite topic of discussion is,
which penalty is preferable— life-imprisonment or
death. The consensus of opinion has generally run in
favor of life-imprisonment, even with no hope of par-
don ; but I have never heard a whimper against the
justice of the death-sentence.

It is also true that the majority of criminals regret
finding a man in their class who has once belonged to
a better one. They are invariably sorry that he has
lost caste, no matter what the circumstances have been
that have brought him low, and are more likely to
help him back to decent society, providing he shows
repentance and willingness to do better, than they are
to help themselves.

Philanthropists might learn a great deal of charity
from the criminal. His idea is that it is better to
keep a member of a respectable class of society from
falling than it is to raise some one in a lower class
to a higher one — a philosophy which I think very
sound.

One more regret which nearly all criminals of the
class I am considering have experienced at one time or
another in their lives, is that circumstances have led
them into a criminal career. Their remorse may be
only for a moment, and an exaggerated indifference
often follows it ; but while it lasts it is genuine and
sincere. I have never known a criminal well who
has not confessed to me something of this sort ; and

^

26 Tramping with Tramps

lie has often capped it with a further confidence— his
sorrow that it was now too late to try anything else.

Such, in hurried and transitory outline, is the im-
pression the criminal has made upon me in the open
day. The mistakes which criminologists have made
in regard to his case seem to me to be these : They
have failed to take note of the fearful effects of con-
finement upon his health ; they have allowed them-
selves to be deceived by him in regard to his intelli-
gence; and they have judged of his moral status
simply from his '' faked " attitude toward the world at
large, failing to take into account his ethics among
his fellows. I believe, too, that they are on the wrong
track in their studies of the criminal's skull. They
have examined it in all manner of ways with an ever-
varying result ; for each investigator comes to a dif-
ferent conclusion. Far better for criminology to
study the criminal's milieu; and until this is done
thoroughly and conscientiously, he cannot be reason-
ably apprehended and scientifically treated.

So far as our present knowledge of his case can help
us, he himself teaches what ought to be done with
him. I have written of the discouraged criminal—
the man who has given up crime because he has dis-
covered that it was not worth the pains it cost him.
Punishment, or expiatory discipline, if you please,
has brought him to this conclusion. Here is good
penology for us. If a man does wrong, wilfully and
knowingly, he must be disciplined till he learns that

The Criminal in the Open 27

society will not tolerate such conduct. The discour-
aged criminal is one who has been thus instructed.
Now that he is a tramp, the same principle must
be applied to him again : make him a discouraged
vagabond. Such is the treatment which society must
bring to bear on the deliberate law-breaker.

If I have studied the criminal to any purpose, it is
with the resulting conviction that he is physically,
mentally, and morally responsible ; and that, though
unhappy in his birth and environment, the very energy
which has enabled him to get away from his poverty
is the '^promise and potency" of a better life. And
human hope looks forward to a day when, in the re-
generation of his class, he shall be born into better
things than crime.

II

THE CHILDREN OF THE ROAD

THE real ^' road " is variously named and variously
described. By the " ambulanter " it is called
Gipsyland, by the tramp Hoboland ; the fallen woman
thinks it is the street, the thief, that it means stealing
and the penitentiary; even the little boy who reads
dime novels and fights hitching-posts for desperados
believes momentarily that he too is on the real road.
All these are indeed branches of the main line. The
road proper, or '^ the turf," as the people who toil along
its stretches sometimes prefer to call it, is low life in
general. It winds its way through dark alleys and
courts to dives and slums, and wherever criminals,
hoboes, outcast women, stray and truant children
congregate ; but it never leads to the smiling windows
and doorways of a happy home, except for plunder
and crime. There is not a town in the land that it
does not touch, and there are but few hamlets that
have not sent out at least one adventurer to explore
its twists and turnings.

The travelers, as I have said, are of all kinds, con-

28

The Children of the Road 29

ditions, and ages : some old and crippled, some still in
their prime, and others just beginning life. To watch
in thought the long and motley procession marching
along is to see a panorama of all the sins, sorrows, and
accidents known to human experience. Year after
year they trudge on and on, and always on, seeking a
goal which they never seem to find. Occasionally they
halt for a while at some half-way house, where they
have heard that there is a resting-place of their desire;
but it invariably proves disappointing, and the tramp,
tramp, tramp begins afresh. Young and old, man
and woman, boy and girl, all go on together ; and as
one dies or wearies of the march, another steps into
his heel-tracks, and the ranks close up as solidly as
ever.

The children of the road have always been to me its
most pitiful investiture, and I have more than once
had dreams and plans that looked to the rescue of
these prematurely outcast beings. It needs skilled
philanthropists and penologists, however, for such a
work, and I must content myself with contributing
experiences and facts which may perhaps aid in the
formation of theory, and thus throw light upon the
practical social tasks that are before us.

There are four distinct ways by which boys and
girls get upon the road : some are born there, some ^
are driven there, others are enticed there, and still \
others go there voluntarily.

Of those who are born on the road, perhaps the
least known are the children of the ambulanters. The
name is a tramp invention, and not popular among
the ambulanters themselves. They prefer to be called

go Tramping with Tramps

gipsies, and try at times, especially when compelled
by law to give some account of themselves, to trace
their origin to Egypt ; but the most of them, I fear,
are degenerated Americans. How they have become
so is a question which permits of much conjecture, and
in giving my own explanation I do not want it to be
taken as applicable to the entire class. I know only
about fifty families, and not more than half of these
at all familiarly ; but those whom I do know seem to
me to be the victims of a pure and simple laziness
handed down from generation to generation until it
has become a chronic family disease. From what they
have told me confidentially about their natural his-
tory, I picture their forefathers as harmless village
"do-nothings," who lounged in corner groceries, hung
about taverns, and followed the fire-engine and the
circus. The second generation was probably too
numerous for the home parish, and, inheriting the
talent for loafing, started out to find roomier lounges.
It must have wandered far and long, for upon the
third generation, the one that I know, the love of
roaming descended to such a degree that all North
America is none too large for it. Go where one will,
in the most dismal woods, the darkest lanes, or on the
widest prairies, there the ambulanter may be found
tenting with his large and unkempt family. He comes
and goes as his restless spirit dictates, and the horse
and wagon carry him from State to State.

It is in Illinois that I know his family best. Cava-
lier John, as he proudly called himself, I remember
particularly. He gave me shelter one night in his
wagon, as I was toiling along the highway south of

The Children of the Road 31

Ottawa, and we became such good friends that I
traveled with his caravan for three days. And what a
caravan it was ! A negro wife, five little mulattoes,
a deformed white girl, three starved dogs, a sore-eyed
cat, a blasphemous parrot, a squeaking squirrel, a
bony horse, and a canvas-topped wagon, and all were
headed " Texas way." John came from Maine origi-
nally, but he had picked up his wife in the West, and
it was through their united efforts in trickery and
clever trading that they had acquired their outfit.
So far as I could learn, neither of them had ever done
an honest stroke of business. The children ranged
from three years to fourteen, and the deformed girl
was nearly twenty. John found her among some other
ambulanters in Ohio, and, thinking that he might
make money out of her physical monstrosities as
''side-shows," cruelly traded off an old fox for her.
She ought to have been in an insane asylum, and I
hope John has put her there long ago. The other
" kidlets," as they were nicknamed, were as deformed
morally as was the adopted girl physically. They had
to beg in every town and village they came to, and
at night their father took the two oldest with him in
his raids on the hen-roosts. It was at town and county
fairs, however, that they were the most profitable.
Three knew how to pick pockets, and the two yoimg-
est gave acrobatic exhibitions. None of them had
ever been in school, none could read or write, and the
only language they spoke was the one of their class.
I have never been able to learn it well, but it is a
mixture of Rom and tramp dialects with a dash of
English slang.

/

32 Tramping with Tramps

On the journey we met another caravan, bound West
by way of Chicago. There were two families, and the
children numbered sixteen ; the oldest ranging from
fifteen to twenty, and the youngest had just appeared.
We camped together in a wood for a night and a day,
and seldom have I sojourned in such company. John
had given me a place with him in the wagon, but now
the woman with the babe was given the wagon, and
John and I slept, or tried to, ^4n the open." In the
other wagon, both sexes, young and old, were crowded
into a space not much larger than the ordinary omni-
bus, and the vermin would have made sleep impossible
to any other order of beings. The next day, being
Sunday, was given over to play and revel, and the
poor horses had a respite from their sorrows. The
children invented a queer sort of game, something
like " shinny," and used a dried-up cat's head as block.
They kicked, pounded, scratched, and cursed one an-
other ; but when the play was over all was well again,
and the block was tucked away in the wagon for
further use. Late at night the journeys were taken
up once more, one caravan moving on toward Dakota,
and the other toward the Gulf.

" Salawakkee ! " ^ cried John, as he drove away ; and
the strangers cried back, '' Chalamu ! " ^

I wonder what has become of that little baby for
whom I sat the night out? It is over ten years ago
now, and he has probably long since been compelled
to play his part in crime, and scratch and fight as his
older brothers and sisters did on that autumn Sunday
morning. Certainly there is nowhere in the world a

1 So long. 2 Live well.

The Children of the Road 33

more ferocious set of children than these of the am-
bulanters. From morning till night it is one continual
snap and bite, and the depraved fathers and mothers
look on and grin. They have not the faintest ideal of
home, and their only outlook in life is some day to
have a ''rig" of their own and prowl throughout the
land, seeking whom they may devour. To tame them
is a task requiring almost divine patience. I should
not know how to get at them. They laugh at tender-
ness, never say '' Thank you," and obey their parents only
when driven with boot and whip. I wish that I could
suggest some gentle method by which they could be
rescued from the road and made good men and
women. It always seems harsh to apply strict law to
delinquents so young and practically innocent, but it
is the only remedy I can offer. They must be put un-
der stiff rule and order, and trained strictly and long.
Although lacking gipsy blood, they have acquired
gipsy character, and it will take generations to get
it out of them. Just how many children are born on
the road is a question which even the ambulanter
would find difficult to answer. They are scattered so
widely and in such out-of-the-way places that a census
is almost impossible. In the families that I have met
there have never been less than four children. Gipsy
Sam once told me that he believed there were at least
two hundred ambulanter families in the United States,
but this will strike every one as a low estimate ; how-
ever, if this is true, and each family has as many boys
and girls as those that I have met, then there must be
at least a thousand of their kind.

Another kind of ragamuffin, also born on the road,

34 Tramping with Tramps

and in many ways akin to the ambulanter, although
wanting such classification, is the one found so often
in those families which every community supports,
but relegates to its uttermost boundary-lines. They
are known as "the McCarthys," "the Night-Hawks,"
or " the Holy Frights," as the case may be. I have
found no town in the United States of twenty thou-
sand inhabitants without some such little Whitechapel
in its vicinity, and, like the famous original, it is often
considered dangerous to enter unarmed. Speaking
generally, there is a great deal of fiction afloat con-
cerning these tabooed families, a number of them
being simply poor or lazy people whom the boys of
the vicinity have exaggerated into gangs of despera-
dos. There are, however, some that are really very
bad, and I have found them even in new little vil-
lages. They are not exactly out-and-out criminals
whom the police can get hold of, but moral lepers who
by public consent have been sentenced to live without
the pale of civilization.

Some years ago I had occasion to visit one of these
miniature Whitechapels. It was situated in a piece
of woods not far from St. Paul, Minnesota, and be-
longed by right of appropriation to three families who
were called " the Stansons." A tramp friend of mine
had been taken sick in their camp, and I was in duty
bound to go out to see him. I managed to find the
settlement all right, but was stopped about a hundred
yards from the log shanties by a bushy-bearded man,
barefooted and clad only in trousers, who asked my
errand. My story evidently satisfied him, for he led
the way to the largest of the shanties, where I found

The Children of the Road 37

my friend. He was lying in the middle of the floor
on some straw, the only furniture in the room being
a shaky table and a three-legged chair. All about him,
some even lying in the straw beside him, were half-
clothed children of both sexes, i)laying "craps" and
eating hunks of bread well daubed with molasses. I
counted nine in that shanty alone, and about as many
again in the other two. They belonged severally to
six women who were apportioned after Mormon cus-
tom to three men. The tramp told me in his dialect
that they really were Mormons and came from Utah.
He was passing by their " hang-out," as he called it,
when taken ill, and they hospitably lodged him. He
said they had not been there long, having come up the
river from Des Moines, Iowa, where they had also had
a camp ; but long enough, I discovered on my return
to St. Paul, to acquire a reputation among the city
lads for all kinds of ''toughness." I suppose they
were ''tough" when considered from certain view-
points, but, as the tramp said, it was the silliest kind
he had known. They were not thieves, and only luke-
warm beggars, but they did seem to love their outland-
ish existence. The children interested me especially,
for they all spoke a queer jargon which they them-
selves had invented. It was something like the well-
known " pig Latin " that all sorts of children like to
play with, but much more complicated and difficult to
understand. And, except the very youngest, who
naturally cried a little, they were the jolliest children
I have ever seen in such terrible circumstances. The
mothers were the main breadwinners, and while I
was there one of them started off to town on a beg-

38 Tramping with Tramps

ging trip, with a batch of children as ^^guy." The
men sat around, smoked, and talked abont the woods.
The tramp told me later, however, that they occasion-
ally raided a hen-roost. Since my visit to the Stan-
sons I have seen three of the children in different
places: one, a cripple, was begging at the World's
Fair ; another was knocking about the Bowery ; and
the third, a girl, was traveling with an ambulanter in
the Mohawk valley.

Not all of these families are like the Stansons. A
number are simply rough-and-tumble people who
haunt the outskirts of provincial towns, and live
partly by pilfering and partly from the municipal fund
for the poor. Somehow or other the children always
dodge the school commissioners, and grow up, I am
sorry to say, very much like their usually unmarried
parents. On the other hand, there are several well-
known organized bands, and they thrive mainly, I
think, in the South and West. Near New Orleans
there used to be, and for aught I know they are still
there, '^ the Jim Jams " and " the Rincheros " ; near
Cairo, Illinois, "the River Rats"; near Chicago, "the
Dippers '' ; and not far from New York, in the Ramapo
Mountains, I knew of " the Sliders," but they have
since moved on to new fields. Each of these families,
or collection of families, had its full quota of children.
Very often the public becomes so enraged at their
petty thefts that an investigation is ordered, and then
there is a sudden packing of traps and quick departure
to a different neighborhood, where a new name is in-
vented. But the family itself never dies out entirely.

There are a few children who are born in Hoboland.

The Children of the Road 39

Now and then, as one travels along the railway lines,
he will come to a hastily improvised camp, where a
pale, haggard woman is lying, and beside her a puny
infant, scarcely clothed, blinking with eyes of wonder
upon the new world about him. I know of no sadder
sight than this in all trampdom. Not even the acci-
dent of motherhood can make the woman anything
but unhuman, and the child, if he lives, grows up in
a world which I believe is unequaled for certain forms
of wickedness. Fortunately, his little body usually
tires of the life ere he comes to realize what it is, and
his soul wanders back to regions of innocence, unsoiled
and unscarred.

I wonder whether there are still men in Hoboland
who remember that interesting little fellow called
" the Cheyenne Baby " ? Surely there are some who
have not forgotten his grotesque vocabulary, and his
utterly overpowering way of using it. There are
different stories concerning his origin, and they vary
in truthfulness, I have heard, as one travels southward
from the Northern Pacific to Santa Fe. I give the one
told in Colorado. It may be only a ^' ghost-story," and
it may be true ; all that I know is that it is not im-
possible. According to its teaching, his mother was
once respectable and belonged to the politest society
in the Indian Territory. When quite a young girl she
carelessly fell in love with a handsome Indian chief,
and, much to the disgust of her friends, married him
and went away into his camp. It must have been a
wild life that she led there, for within a year she was
separated from him and living with another Indian.
It is the same pitiful story for the next five years j

40 Tramping with Tramps

she was knocked about from tent to tent and camp to
camp. Her enemies say that she liked that kind of
hfe, but her friends know better, and claim that she
was ashamed to go home. However it was, she went over
to the cow-boys after a while, and it was then that the
baby was born, and she met the man, whoever he was,
that introduced her into Hoboland. She appeared
one night at a hang-out near Denver, and there was
something so peculiarly forlorn about her that the
men took pity on her and pressed her to stay. This
she did, and for some time traveled with the hoboes
throughout the districts lying between Cheyenne and
Santa Fe. The boy became a sort of " mascot," and
was probably the only child in Hoboland who was ever
taught to be really good. The mother had stipulated
with the men that they should never teach him any-
thing bad, and the idea struck them as so comical that
they fell in with it. Though thej swore continually
in his presence, they invariably gave him some re-
spectable version of the conversation ; and while
about the only words he knew were curses, he was
made to believe they signified the nicest things in the
world. He died just as unknowing as he had lived,
but it was a cruel death. He and his mother, together
with some companions, were caught one night in a
wreck on the Union Pacific, and all that the survivors
could find of him to bury was his right arm. But that
was bravely honored, and, unless the coyotes have torn
down the wooden slab, the grave can still be found on
the prairies.

I cannot leave this division of my theme without
saying something about that large army of unfathered

The Children of the Road 41

children who, to my mind, are just as much born on
the road as the less known types. True, many of
them are handed over at birth to some family to sup-
port, but the great majority of these families are not
one whit better than the ambulanters. They train the
orphans put into their care, in sin and crime, quite as
carefully as the hobo does his beggar boy. These are ^
the children who make up the main body of the class
I have been considering, and it seems to me that they
increase from year to year. At present the only
legitimate career for them is that of the outcast, and
into it they go. Few, indeed, succeed in gaining a
foothold in polite society. Their little lives form the
border-land of my second class, the children driven to
the road.

n

Concerning the children who are forced upon the
road there is a great deal to be said, but much of this
talk should be directed against the popular belief
that their number is legion. Socialists particularly
think that hundreds upon hundreds of boys and
girls are compelled by hunger to beg and steal for
a living. In England I once heard a labor agitator
declare that there are a million of these juvenile
^'victims of capital" in the United States alone. I
do not know where the man got his information,
but if my finding counts for anything it is deplor-
ably unsound. I cannot claim to have studied the
subject as carefully as is necessary to know it abso-
lutely, but in most of our large cities I have given it
close attention, and never have I found anything like

42 Tramping with Tramps

the state of affairs which even the general public be-
lieves to exist. For every child forced by starvation
to resort to the road I have met ten who were born
there, and nearly the same number who were enticed
there. In saying this, however, I do not want to draw
emphasis or sympathy away from that certainly exist-
ing class of children who really have been driven into
outlawry. But it is an injustice to our sober poor to
say that they exist in those large numbers that are so
often quoted. Not long ago I made it my special
business for a while to look into the condition of some
of these compulsory little vagabonds in New York
city. I picked out those children whom one sees so
often pilfering slyly from the groceryman's sidewalk
display. It is an old, old trick. The youngsters di-
vide themselves into '' watchers" and "snatchers";
the former keeping an eye on the police as well as the
owners of the things coveted, and the latter grabbing
when the wink is given. The crime itself is not a
heavy one according to the calendar, but it is only a
step from this to picking pockets, and only a half -step
farther to highway robbery. I chose this particular
class because I had often noticed the members of it in
my walks through the city, and it had seemed to me
the least necessary of all. Then, too, there was some-
thing in the pinched faces that made me anxious to
know the children personally on grounds of charity.
The great majority of youthful travelers on the road
are comparatively well fed, to say the least, and, much
as one pities their fate, he will seldom have cause to
weep over their starved condition. But here was
something different, and I fancied that I was to get a

The Children of the Road 43

glimpse into the Hfe of those people to whom the
socialist points when asked for living examples of
human woe caused by inhuman capitalists.

It was not hard to *'get in" with the children.
Finding that I was willing to play with them at their
games in the alleys and on top of their rickety tene-
ment-houses, they edged up to me rather cordially, and
we were soon '' pals." There was nothing very new in
their life, but I was struck with the great interest
they took in their petty thefts. In the midst of the
most boisterous play they would gladly stop if some
one suggested a clever plan by which even a can of
preserves could be ^^ swiped," as they called it, and the
next instant they were trying to carry it to a finish.
They were not what I could call instinctive criminals
—far from it ; but a long intimacy with the practices
of outlawry, though small in their w^ay, had so dead-
ened their moral sense that sneak-thieving came to
them almost as naturally as it does to the klepto-
maniac. Even in their games they cheated whenever
it was possible, and it seemed to me that the main fun
was seeing how cleverly and j^et boldly they could
do so without being detected. I recall distinctly one
afternoon when we were playing ^' Hi spy." A little
fellow called Jamie took me aside, and in the most
friendly way advised me not to be so ^' goody-goody."
I had been very unlucky in getting caught, and he
said that it was because I gave in too quickly.

''When ye hear yer name," he continued, "jus' lie
low, 'cause like as not the catcher ain't seen ye, 'n' if
he has he can't prove it; so ye 'r' all right anyhow.
Ye '11 always be ' It ' if ye don't do something like that ;

44 Tramping with Tramps

'n' there ain't no fun in that, is there?" he added,
winking his left eye in a truly professional manner.

So much for their native endowment. Their ac-
complishment in thieving, I have no doubt, kept them
often from going hungry, notwithstanding the fact
that there was honest industry at home, generally
that of the mother, while the father's earnings went
almost bodily into the publican's till.

I found it much more difficult to make friends with
the parents, but succeeded in several cases — that is,
with the mother ; the father I usuallv found drunk at
the saloon. I shall not try to give an account of the
squalor and sorrow that I encountered ; this has been
done in other places by far more able pens than mine ;
but I cannot forbear making a note of one little
woman whom I saw sewing her very life away, and
thinking all the while that she was really supporting
her hungry children. I shall never forget the picture
she made as she sat there by the alley window, driving
the needle with liglitning-like rapidity through the
cloth— a veritable Madonna of the Needle. Her good
cheer was something stupendous. Not once did she
murmur, and when her brute of a husband returned,
insanely intoxicated, she took care of him as if he
were the best man in the world. I was careful that
she did not hear from me about the tricks of her way-
ward children. Some day, however, I fear that one
of them will be missing, and when she goes to the
police station to make inquiries I should rather not
confront her. The main reason why hungry boys
and girls are found upon the road is drunken fathers.

There are also children who, instead of being forced

The Children of the Road 45

to steal, are sent out into the streets by their parents
to beg. From morning till night they trudge along
the busy thoroughfares, dodging with cat-like agility
the lumbering wagons that bear down upon them, and
accosting every person whom their trained eyes find
at all likely to listen to their appeals. Late at night,
if perchance they have had the necessary luck during
the day, they crawl back to their hovels and hand over
the winnings to their heavy-eyed fathers. Or, as often
happens, if the day has been unsuccessful and the
pennies are not numerous enough to satisfy their
cruel masters, they take refuge in some box or barrel,
and pray to the beggar's Providence that the next day
will go better.

They come, as a rule, from our foreign population.
I have never found one with American-born parents,
and in many instances the children themselves have
emigrated from Europe, usually from Italy. There is
no doubt that they have to beg to live ; but when one
looks a little further into their cases, a lazy or dissi-
pated parent is usually the one to blame. Then, too,
mendicancy is not considered disgraceful among many
of our immigrants, and they send their children into
the streets of our cities quite as freely as they do at
home. They also are mainly at fault for that awful
institution which some of our large towns support,
where babies are rented to grown-up beggars to excite
the sympathy of the passers-by. I looked into one of
these places in San Francisco, while traveling with the
hoboes, and it was the very counterpart of an African
slave-market. A French-Canadian woman, old enough
to be the great-grandmother of all her wares, kept it.

46 Tramping with Tramps

She rented the babies from poverty-stricken mothers,
and re-rented them at a profit to the begging women
of the town. There were two customers in the place
when I entered, and the old wretch was trying in true
peddler style to bring out the good points of four lit-
tle bits of humanity cuddled together on a plank bed.

^^ Oh, he 's just the kind you want," she said to one
of the women; ''never cries, and"— leaning over, she
whispered in a Shylock voice — ''he don't eat hardly
anything ; lialf a hottle 0' milk does him the tvhole dayP

The woman was satisfied, and, paying her deposit
of two dollars, took the sickly thing in her arms and
went out into the town. The other could find nothing
that suited her, but promised to return the next day,
when a "new batch " was expected.

Such are the main avenues by which boys and girls
are driven to the road in the United States. Hunger,
I candidly admit, is the whip in many instances, but
the wielder of it is more often than not the drunken
father or mother. It is the hunger that comes of self-
ish indulgence, and not of ill adjusted labor condi-
tions.

Ill

Of my third class, those who are enticed to the
road,— and their number is legion,— I have been able
to discover three different types. The old roadster
knows them all. Wherever he goes they cross his path,
and beg him to stop awhile and tell them of his
travels. They seem to realize that they have been
swindled— that the road is, after all, only a tantaliz-
ing delusion ; but they cannot understand why it ap-

The Children of the Road 47

peals to so many of their elders, and it is in the hope
that these will in the end put them on the right track
for the fun they are seeking that they hail them, and
cry, " What cheer ? " It is a pitiful call, this, and even
the " old stager " winces at times on hearing it ; but he
cannot bring himself to go back on ^' the profession,"
and quickly conquering his emotion, he gives the tiny
traveler fresh directions. The boy starts out anew,
hoping against experience that he is at last on the
right route, and plods on eagerly until stopped again
at some troublesome cross-road where he does not
know which turn to take. Once more he asks for di-
rections, once more receives them, and so the ceaseless
trudge goes on. It is mainly at the cross-roads that
I have learned to know these children. Notwithstand-
ing my alien position, they have hailed me too, and
inquired for sign-posts. I have seldom been able to
help them, even in the way that I most desired, but
surely therer are others who can.

The children of this third class that one meets of ten-
est are what the older travelers call " worshipers of the
tough." They have somehow got the idea that cow-boy
swagger and the criminal's lingo are the main features \J
of a manly man, and having an abnormal desire to
realize their ideal as quickly as possible, they go forth to
acquire them. The hunt soon lures them to the road,
and up and down its length they scamper, with faces
so eager and intent that one is seldom at a loss to
know what they are seeking. There are different ex-
planations of the charm that this wild life has for
them. A great many people believe that it is purely
and simply the work of the devil on their evil-bent

48 Tramping with Tramps

natures ; others, that it is the result of bad training ;
and still others, that it is one form of the mimicry
with which every child is endowed in larger or smaller
degree. I favor the last opinion. In the bottom of
their hearts they are no worse than the average boy
and girl, but they have been unfortunate enough to
see a picture or bear a story of some famous rascal,
and it has lodged in their brains, until the temptation
to *^ go and do likewise " has come upon them with
such overwhelming force that they simply cannot re-
sist. Each one has some particular pattern continu-
ally before his eyes, and only as he approaches it
1/ does he feel that he is becoming tough. Now it is
^'Blinkey Morgan" that fascinates him, and, despite
his terrible end, he strives to be like him ; then it is
'^Wild BiU," whoever he may be; and not unfre-
quently it is a character that has existed only in dime
novels, or not even so substantially as that.

I remember well a little fellow, about thirteen years
old, who appeared in Indian-scout attire one night
at a hang-out near McCook, Nebraska. He dropped
in while the tramps were cooking their coffee, and
seldom has there been such a laugh on the " Q " rail-
road as they gave on seeing him. It was impolite,
and they begged his pardon later, but even his guar-
dian angel would have smiled. He was dressed from
head to foot in leather clothes each piece made by
himself, he said, and at his belt hung an enormous
revolver, which some one had been careful enough to
make useless by taking out an important screw. It
was in the hope of finding one at the camp that he
visited it, but the men made so much of him that he

The Children of the Road

49

remained until his story was told. It was not remark-
ably new, for all that he wanted was a chance to shoot
Indians, but his hero was a little unusual,— Kalama-
zoo Chickamauga, he called him. When asked who
he was and where he had lived, all that the youngster
could say was that he had dreamed about him ! I
saw him again a week or so later, not far from Denver,
tramping along over the railroad-ties with long strides
far beyond his measure, and he hoped to be at " Dead-
town," as he miscalled Deadwood, in a few days. He
had not yet found a screw for his '^ gun," but he was
sure that "■ Buffalo Charley " would give him one.

Of course this is a unique case, in a way, for one
does not meet many lads in such an outfit, but there
are scores of others just as sincere and fully as inno-
cent. If one could only get hold of them ere they
reach the road, nearly all could be brought to reason.
They are the most impressionable children in the
world, and there must be a way by which this very
quality may be turned to their advantage. What this
way shall be can be determined only by those who
know well the needs of each child, but there is one
suggestion I cannot forbear making. Let everything
possible be done to keep these sensitive boys and girls,
but particularly the former, from familiarity with
crime. Do not thrust desperadoism upon them from
the shop-windows through the picture-covered dime
novels and the flaring faces of the "Police Gazette." y
It is just such teaching by suggestion that starts
many an honest but romantic boy off to the road, ^
when a little cautious legislation might save him years
of foolish wandering, and the State the expense of

/

50 Tramping with Tramps

housing him in its reformatories later on. I write
with feeling at this point, for I know from personal
experience what tantalizing thoughts a dime novel
will awaken in such a boy's mind. One of these
thoughts will play more havoc with his youth than can
be made good in his manhood, and lucky is he whom
it does not lure on and on until the return path is for-
ever lost.

Something like these children in temperament, but
totally different in most other respects, are those lads
that one meets so often on our railroads, drifting about
for a month or so from town to town, seldom stopping
in any of them over a day, and then suddenly disap-
pearing, no one knows where, to appear again, later,
on another railroad, frequently enough a thousand
miles distant. Occasionally they are missed from the
road for over a year, and there is absolutely no news
of their whereabouts ; but just as they are almost for-
gotten they come forward once more, make a few
journeys on the freight- trains, and vanish again.
There are cases on record where they have kept this
up for years, some of them coming and going with
such regularity that their appearances may be calcu-
lated exactly. Out West, not very long ago, there was
a little chap who ^' showed up" in this way, to use the
expression that the brakemen applied to him, every
six weeks for three years, but this was all that was
known concerning him. When asked who he was and
where he belonged, he gave such evasive answers that
it was impossible to come to any trustworthy conclu-
sion about him. He would have nothing to do with
the people he met, and I have heard that he always

VOUTHFI'L TKKSPASSKKS.

The Children of the Road 53

rode alone in the box-cars. In this last respect he
was a notable exception, for, as a rule, these little
nomads take great pleasure in talking with strangers,
but they are careful not to say too much about them-
selves. They ask questions principally, and skip from
one subject to another with a butterfl}^ rapidity, but
manage to pick up a great deal of knowledge of the
road.

The tramps' theory of them is that they are pos-
sessed of the '^ railroad fever," and I am inclined to
agree with them, but I accept the expression in its
broader sense of Waiiderlust. They w^ant to get out
into the world, and at stated periods the desire is so
strong and the road so handy that they simply can-
not resist the temptation to explore it. A few weeks
usually suffice to cool their ardor, and then they run
home quite as summarily as they left, but they stay
only until the next runaway mood seizes them. I
have been successful in getting really well acquainted
"w^ith several of these interesting wanderers, and in
each case this has been tlie situation. They do not
want to be tough, and many of them could not be if
they tried ; but they have a passion for seeing things
on their own hook, and if the mood for a ^'trip"
comes, it seems to them the most natural thing in the
world to indulge it. If they had the means they
would ride on Pullman cars and imagine themselves
princes, but lacking the w^herewithal, they take to the
road.

I knew in New York State a boy of this sort who had
as comfortable a home as a child could wish, but he
was cursed with this strange Wanderhisf, and through-

^4 Tramping with Tramps

out Ins boyhood there was hardly a month that he did
not run away. The queerest things enticed him to go.
Sometimes the whistle of a railway-engine was enough
to make him wild with unrest, and again the sight of
the tame but to him fascinating village street was
sufficient to set him planning his route of travel. In
every escapade it was his imagination that stampeded
him. Many a time, when he was in the most docile of
moods, some fanciful thought of the world at large,
and what it held in waiting for him, would dance
across his brain, and before he could analyze it, or
detect the swindle, he was scampering off for the rail-
road station. Now it was a wish to go West and
play trapper and scout, and then it was the dream of
American boyhood,— a life cramped but struggling,
and emerging in glorious success as candidate for the
Presidency. Garfield's biography, I remember, once
started him on such a journey, and it took years to
get the notion out of his head that simply living
and striving as Garfield did was sure to bring the
same results. Frequently his wanderings ended sev-
eral hundred miles from home, but much oftener in
some distracting vagabond's hang-out in a neigh-
1/ boring city. Fortunately the fever burned itself out
ere he had learned to like the road for its own sake,
and he lived to wonder how he had harbored or in-
dulged such insane impulses. A large number of
these truants, however, have no good homes and in-
dulgent parents to return to, and after a while the
repeated punishment seems to them so unjust and
cruel that there comes a trip which never ends.
The Wanderlust becomes chronic, and mainly because

The Children of the Road 55

it was not treated properly in its intermittent stage.
There is no use in whipping these children ; they are
not to blame ; all that one can do is to busy their
imaginations in wholesome ways, watch them care-
fully, and, if they must wander, direct their wander-
ings. In many cases this is possible, for the fever
breaks out among children of the best birth as well as
among those of the lowest ; and in these instances, at
least, the parents have much to answer for if the chil-
dren reach the road. I look upon this fever as quite
as much of a disease as the craze to steal which is
found now and then in some child's character, and it
deserves the same careful treatment. Punishment
only aggravates it, and develops in the boy a feeUng
of hatred for all about him. I firmly believe that
some day this trouble in so many boys' lives will be
pathologically treated by medical men, and the sooner
that day comes the better will it be for many unfor-
tunate children.

It is a different story that I have to teU of the chil-
dren decoyed into Hoboland. True, they also are,
in a measure, seized with this same Wanderlust, and
without this it would be impossible for the tramp to in-
fluence them as he does ; but, on the other hand, with-
out him to excite and direct this passion, very few of
them would ever reach trampdom. He happens along
at their very weakest moments, and, perceiving his
advantage, cruelly fires their imagination with tales
of adventure and travel, and before they discover their
danger he has them in his clutches. It is really one
of the wonders of the world, the power that this ugly,
dissipated, tattered man has over the children he

56 Tramping with Tramps

meets. In no other country that I have visited is
there anything like it. He stops at a town for a few
hours, collects the likely boys about him at his hang-
out, picks out the one that he thinks will serve him
best, and then begins systematically to fascinate him.
If he understands the art well (and it is a carefully
studied art), he can almost always get the one he
wants. Often enough his choice is some well-bred
child, unaccustomed, outside his dreams, to any such
Hfe, but the man knows so perf ectl}^ how to piece out
those dreams and make them seducingly real that in
a moment of enthusiasm the youngster gives himself
up to the bewitching influence and allows the wretch
to lead him away. As a rule, however, his victims are
the children of the poor, for they are the easiest to
approach. A few hours of careful tactics, provided
they are in the mood, and he has one of them riding
away with him, not merely in the box-car of a freight-
train, but on the through train to Hoboland.

Watch him at his preliminary work. He is seated
on the top of an ash-barrel in a filthy back alley. A
crowd of gamins gaze up at him with admiring eyes.
When he tells his ghost-stories, each one thinks that
he is being talked to just as much as the rest, and yet
somehow, little by little, there is a favorite who is
getting more and more than his share of the winks
and smiles ; soon the most exciting parts of the stories
are gradually devoted to him alone, but in such an
artful way that he himself fails to notice it at first.
It is not long, however, before he feels his impor-
tance. He begins to wink, too, but just as slyly as
his charmer, and his little mouth curls into a return

The Children of the Road 57

smile when the others are not looking. '* I 'm his fa-
vorite, I am," he thinks. "He '11 take me with him,
he will, and show me things."

lie is what the hobo calls " peetrified," which means,
as much as anything else, hypnotized. The stories
that he has heard amount to very little in themselves,
but the way they are told, the happy-go-lucky man-
ner, the subtle partiality, the winning voice, and
the sensitiveness of the boy's nature to things of
wonder, all combine to turn his head. Then his
own parents cannot control him as can this slouch-
ing wizard.

In Hoboland the boy's life may be likened to that
of a voluntary slave. He is forced to do exactly what
his "jocker" commands, and disobedience, wilful or
innocent, brings down upon him a most cruel wrath.
Besides being kicked, slapped, and generally mal-
treated, he is also loaned, traded, and even sold, if his
master sees money in the bargain. There are, of
course, exceptions, for I have myself known some
jockers to be almost as kind as fathers to their boys,
but they are such rarities that one can never count
upon them. When a lad enters trampdom he must
be prepared for all kinds of brutal treatment, and the
sooner he forgets home gentleness the better will it be
for him. In payment for all this suffering and rough
handling, he is told throughout his apprenticeship
that some day he too will be able to " snare " a boy,
and make him beg and slave for him as he has slaved
for others. This is the one reward that tramps hold
out to their " prushuns," and the little fellows cherish
it so long that, when their emancipation finally comes,

58 Tramping with Tramps

nearly all start off to do the very same thing that was
done to them when they were children.

West of the Mississippi River there is a regular
gang of these " ex-kids/' as they are termed in the
vernacular, and all are supposed to be looking for re-
venge. Until they get it there is still something of
the prushun about them which makes them unwelcome
in the old stager class. So they prowl about the
community from place to place, looking eagerly for
some weak lad whom they can decoy and show to
the fraternity as evidence of their full membership.
They never seem to realize what an awful thing they
are doing. If you remonstrate with them, they reply :
" W'y, you don't think we Ve been slavin' all this while
f er nothin', do you ? It 's our turn to play jocker now,"
and, with a fiendish look in their eyes, they turn and
stalk away. Ten years and more of tramp life have
killed their better natures, and all that they can think
of is vengeance, unscrupulous and sure. In this way
the number of boys in Hoboland is always kept up to a
certain standard. Every year a number are graduated
from the prushun class, and go out into the world im-
mediately to find younger children to take the places
they have left. In time these do the same thing, and so
on, until to-day there is no line of outlawry so sure of re-
cruits as vagabondage. Each beggar is a propagandist,
and his brethren expect of him at least one convert.

rv

There is not much that I can say of the children
who go to the road voluntarily. I am sure that there
are such, for I have traveled with them, but it has

TELLING " GHOST-STOKIES.

The Children of the Road 61

been impossible for me to get into their life intimately
enough to speak of it intelligently. Even the men
constantly in their company can say but little about
them. When asked for an explanation, they shake
their heads and call them ^4ittle devils"; but why
they are so, what it is that they are seeking, and where
they come from, are questions to which they are unable
to give any satisfactory replies. I know about twenty,
all told, and, as far as I have been successful in ob-
serving them, they seem to me to belong to that class
of children which the criminologist Lombroso finds
morally delinquent at birth. Certainly it would be
hard to account for their abnormal criminal sense on
any other ground. They take to the road as to their
normal element, and are on it but a short time ere
they know almost as much as the oldest travelers.
Their minds seem bent toward crime and vagabondage,
and their intuitive powers almost uncanny. To hear
them talk makes one think, if he shuts his eyes, that
he is in the presence of trained criminal artists, and I
have sometimes imagined that they were not children,
but dwarfed men born out of due time. They under-
take successfully some of the most dangerous rob-
beries in the world, and come off scot-free, so that old
and experienced thieves simply stare and wonder. The
temptation is to think that they are accidents, but they
recur so frequently as to demand a theory of origin
and existence. They are, I do not doubt, the product
of criminal breeding, and are just as much admired in
the criminal world as are the feats of some Wiinder-
Jcind, for instance, among musicians. Watch the scene
in an outcasts' den when one of these queer little crea-

62 Tramping with Tramps

tures comes m, and you may see the very same thing
that goes on in the ''artist's box" at some concert
where a prodigy is performing. The people swarm
around him, pet him, make him laugh and talk, till
the proprietor finds him a valuable drawing card for
the establishment. The child himself seldom realizes
his importance, and, when off duty, plays at games in
keeping with his age. The instant business is sug-
gested, however, his countenance assumes a most seri-
ous air, and it is then that one wonders whether he is
not, after all, some skilful old soul traveling back
through life in a fresh young body. Indeed, there is
so much in his case that appeals to my sense of won-
der that I simply cannot study him for what he is ; but
there are those who can do this, and I promise them
a most interesting field of observation. I know
enough about it to believe that if it can be thoroughly
explored there will be a great change in the punish-
ment of criminals. These boys have in them in
largest measure what the entire body of moral delin-
quents possesses in some degree ; and when these baf-
fling characteristics have been definitely analyzed and
placed, penology will start on a fresh course.

It may be worth while to say what I can about their
physical appearance. The most of them have seemed
to me to have fairly well-formed bodies, but something
out of the ordinary in their eyes, and in a few cases
in the entire face. Sometimes the left eye has drooped
very noticeably, and one boy that I recall had some-
thing akin to a description I once heard of the '' evil
eye." It was a gipsy who explained it to me ; and if
he was right, that a " little curtain," capable of falling

The Children of the Road 63

over the eyeball at will, is the main curiosity, then
this boy had the evil eye. He could throw a film over
his eye in the most distressing fashion, and delighted
in the power to do so ; indeed, it was his main way of
teasing people. He knew that it was not a pleasant
sight, and if he had a petty grudge to gratify, he chose
this very effective torment. Concerning the faces, it
is difficult to explain just what was the matter. They
were not exactly deformed, but there was a peculiar
depravity about them that one could but notice in-
stantly. At times I fancied that it was in the arrange-
ment of features ratlier than acquired expression of
the life ; but there were cases where the effects of evil
environment and cruel abuse were plain to see. I
have sometimes taken the pains to look up the parents
of a child who thus interested me, but I could not
discover any similar depravity in their countenances.
There was depravity there, to be sure, but of a differ-
ent kind. I believe that the parents of these children,
and especially the mothers, could tell a great deal con-
cerning them, and the theorists in criminology will
never be thoroughly equipped for their work till all
this evidence has been heard.

The foregoing is but a partial summary of several
years^ experience with the children of the road. It is
far from being what I should like to write about them,
but perhaps enough has been said to forestate the
problem as it appears to one who has traveled with
these children and learned to know them ''in the
open." Surely there is kindness and ingenuity enough
in the world to devise a plan or a system by which

64 Tramping with Tramps

they may be snatched from the road and restored to
their better selves. Surely, too, these little epitomes
of Wanderlust, and even of crime, are not to bafBle
philanthropy and science forever, I feel sure that,
whatever may be the answer to the thousand questions
which center in this problem, one thing can be done,
and done at once. Wherever law is able to deal with
these children, let it be done on the basis of an in-
telligent classification. In punishing them for their
misdemeanors and crimes, let them not be tumbled
indiscriminately into massive reform institutions, offi-
cered by political appointment and managed with an
eye to the immediate interests of the taxpayer instead
of the welfare of the inmates. The one practical re-
source that lies nearest to our hand as philanthropic
sociologists is the reform of the reformatories. We
may not hope to reach in many generations the last
sources of juvenile crime, but we are deserving of a
far worse punishment than these moral delinquents if,
being well born and well bred, we do not set ourselves
resolutely to the bettering of penal conditions once
imposed.

First of all, we must have a humane and scientific
separation of the inmates in all these reformatories.
Sex, age, height, and weight are not the only things
to be taken into consideration when dealing with err-
ing children. Birth, temperament, habits, education,
and experience are questions of far more vital impor-
tance, and it is no unreasonable demand upon the State
that careful attention to each of these points be re-
quired in the scheme of such institutions. Put an
ambulanter's child with a simple runaway boy, and

The Children of the Road 65

there will be two ambulanters ; associate a youngster
with the passion to be tough with a companion
innately criminal, and the latter will be the leader.
The law of the survival of the fittest is just as opera-
tive in low life as in any other. In such spheres the
worst natures are the fittest, and the partially good
must yield to them unless zealously defended by out-
side help. It is suicidal to put them together, and
wherever this is done, especially among children, there
need be no surprise if criminals, and not citizens, are
developed.

Second, the management of reformatories should be
in scientific hands ; and just here I am constrained to
plead for the training of young men and women for
the rare usefulness that awaits them in such institu-
tions. It is to these places that the children I have
been describing will have to go, and, with aU respect
to the officials now in charge, I believe that there are
apt and gifted young men and women in this country
who could bring to them invaluable assistance, if they
could only be persuaded to train for it and to offer it.
I do not know why it is, but for some reason these
institutions do not yet appeal to any large number of
students who intend taking service in the ranks of ^
reform. The university settlement attracts many, and
this is one of the finest manifestations of the universal
brotherhood which is to be. Meanwhile, there is a
moral hospital service to be carried on in penal and
reformatory houses. Shall it be done by raw, un-
trained hands, by selfish quacks, or by careful, scien-
tific students? Must the moral nurse and physician
be chosen for his ability to control votes, or to treat

66 Tramping with Tramps

his patients with skilled attention and consideration ?
If the treatment of physical disease offers attractions
that call thousands upon thousands of young men and
women into the nursing and medical professions, here
is a field even more fascinating to the student, and so
full of opportunity and interesting employment that
it will be a matter of wonder if the supply does not
speedily exceed the demand.

There is one thing more. Reformatories, planned,
officered, and conducted according to the principles of
scientific philanthropy, should be stationed, not at the
end of the road, but at the junction of all by-paths
that leads into it.

Ill

CLUB LIFE AMONG OUTCASTS

ONE of the first noticeable features of low life is
its gregariousness. To be alone, except in a few
cases where a certain morbidity and peculiar fondness
for isolation prevail, is almost the worst punishment
that can befall the outcast. There is a variety of
causes for this, but I think the main one is the desire
to feel that although he is forbidden the privileges and
rights of a polite society, he can nevertheless identify
himself with just as definite and exclusive a commu-
nity as the one he has been turned out of.

His specialty in crime and rowdyism determines the
particular form and direction of his social life. If he
is a tramp he wants to know his partners, and the
same instinct prevails in all other fields of outlawry.
In time, and as he comes to see that his world is a
large one,— so large, in fact, that he can never under-
stand it all,— he chooses as he can those particular
" pals " with whom he can get on the easiest. Out of
this choice there develops what I call the outcast^s
club. He himself calls it a gang, and his club-house
a ^' hang-out." It is of such clubs that I v/ant to write

67

68 Tramping with Tramps

in this chapter. I do not pretend to know all of them.
Far from it ! And some of those that I know are too
vile for description ; but the various kinds that I can
describe, I have chosen those which are the most
representative.

n

Low life as I know it in America is composed of
three distinct classes, and they are called, in outcasts'
slang, the '' Kids," the '' Natives," and the '' Old Bucks."
The Kids, as their name suggests, are boys and girls,
the Natives are the middle-aged outcasts, and the Old
Bucks are the superannuated. Each of these classes
has clubs corresponding in character and purpose to
the age of the members.

The clubs of the Kids are composed mainly of mis-
chievous children and instinctively criminal children.
As a rule, they are organized by boys alone, but I
have known girls also to take part in their proceed-
ings. The lads are usually between ten and fifteen
years old. Sometimes they live at home with their
parents, if they have any, and sometimes in lodging-
houses. They get their living, such as it is, by rag-
picking, selling newspapers, blacking boots, and doing
odd errands fitted to their strength. None of them,
not even the criminally inclined, are able to steal
enough to support themselves.

To illustrate, I shall take two clubs which I knew,
one in Chicago, and one in Cincinnati. The Chicago
club belonged exclusively to a set of lads on the North
Side who called themselves the ^'Wildcats." The
most of them were homeless little fellows who lived in

Club Life among Outcasts 69

that district as newsboys and boot-blacks. They num-
bered about twenty, and although they had no offi-
cially elected leader, a little fellow called Fraxy was
nevertheless a recognized "president," and was sup-
posed to know more about the city and certain tricks
than the rest, and I think it was he who started the
club. He was an attractive lad, capable of exercising
considerable influence over his companions, and I can
easily understand how he persuaded them to form
the club. For personality counts for as much in low
life as it does in '^high life," and little Fraxy had
a remarkably magnetic one. He drew boys to him
wherever he went, and before going to Chicago had
organized a similar club in Toledo, Ohio.

The club-house of the Wildcats was a little cave
which they had dug in a cabbage-field on the outskirts
of the city. Here they gathered nearly every night in
the week to smoke cigarettes, read dime novels or
hear them read, tell tales, crack jokes, and plan their
mischievous raids on the neighboring districts. The
cave contained a brickwork stove, some benches, some
old pots and cans, one or two obscene pictures, and
an old shoe-box, in which were stored from time to
time various things to eat.

The youngest boy was ten and the oldest fourteen,
and as I remember them they were not especially bad
boys. I have often sat with them and listened to their
stories and jokes, and although they could swear, and
a few could drink like drunkards, the most of them
had hearts still kind. But they were intensely mis-
chievous. The more nuisances they could commit the
happier they were ; and the odd part of it all was that

yo Tramping with Tramps

their misdemeanors never brought them the slightest
profit, and were remarkable for nothing but their
wantonness. I remember particular^ one night when
they stoned an old church simply because Fraxy had
suggested it as sport. They left their cave about nine
o'clock and went to a stone-pile near at hand, where
they filled their pockets full of rocks. Then they
started off pell-mell for the church, the windows of
which they '' peppered 'n' salted " till they looked like
" 'skeeter-nettin's," as Fraxy said. The moment they
had finished they scampered into town and brought
up at various lodging-houses.

They never thieved or begged while I knew them,
and not one of them had what could be called a crim-
inal habit. They were simply full of boyishness, and
having no homes, no parents, no friends, no refined
instincts, it is no wonder that they worked off their
animal spirits in pranks of this sort. Sometimes they
used to take their girl friends out to the cave, too,
and enlist them for a while in the same mischievous
work that I have described ; but they always treated
them kindly, and spoke of them as their '^ dear little
kidsy-widsies." The girls helped to make the cave
more homelike, and the lads appreciated every decora-
tion and knickknack given them.

Every city has clubs like this. They are a natural
consequence of slum life, and to better them it is first
necessary to better the slums themselves. Sunday-
school lessons will not accomplish this ; reading-rooms
will not accomplish it ; gymnasiums will not accom-
plish it ; and nothing that I know of will accomplish
it except personal contact with some man or boy who

Club Life among Outcasts 71

is willing to live among them and show them, as he
alone can, a better life. There are many young men
in the world who have remarkable ability, I believe,
for just such work, if they would only go into it. By
this I do not necessarily mean joining some organiza-
tion or " settlement " ; I mean that the would-be helper
shall live his own individual life among these people,
learn to understand their whims and passions, and try
to be of use to them as a personal friend. If he is es-
pecially adapted to dealing with boys, he has only to
take up his residence in any slum in any city, and
he will find plenty to do. But whatever he does, he
must not let them think that he is among them as a
reformer.

m

The club in Cincinnati was of a different kind. It
is true that it consisted of young boys, and that some
of them were boot-blacks and newsboys, but in other
respects they were different. Their club name was
the ^' Sneakers," and their hang-out was an old deserted
house-boat, which lay stranded on the river-bank
about a mile or so out of town. Some of them had
homes, but the majority lived in lodging-houses or on
the boat. When I first knew them they had been or-
ganized about three months, and a few of them had al-
ready been caught and sent to the reform school. Their
business was stealing, pure and simple. Old metals were
the things they looked for chiefly, because they were the
handiest to get at. They had had no training in pick-
ing pockets or '^ sly work" of any particular sort, but
they did know some untenanted houses, and these they

72 Tramping with Tramps

entered and cut away the lead pipes to sell to dealers
in such wares. Sometimes they also broke into
engine-houses, and, if possible, unscrewed the brass-
work on the engines, and I have even known them to
take the wheels off wagons to get the tires. Their
boat was their storehouse until the excitement over
the theft had subsided, and then they persuaded some
tramp or town ^' tough" to dispose of their goods.
They never made very much profit, but enough to
keep up interest in further crimes.

I became acquainted with them through an old vaga-
bond in Cincinnati who helped them now and then.
He took me out to see them one night, and I had a
good opportunity to learn what their club was made
of. Most of the lads were over fourteen years of age,
and two had already been twice in reform schools in
different States. These two were the leaders, and
mainly, I think, on account of certain tough airs which
they '' put on." They talked criminal slang, and had
an all- wise tone that was greatly liked by the other
boys. They were all saturated with criminal ideas,
and their faces gave evidence of crooked characteris-
tics. How they came to club together is probably best
explained by the older vagabond. I asked him how he
accounted for such an organization, and he replied :

''Got it in 'em, I guess. It's the only reason I
know. Some kids always is that way. The divil 's
born in 'em."

I think that is true, and I still consider it the best
explanation of the Sneakers. They were criminals by
instinct, and such boys, just as mischievous boys, drift
together and combine plots and schemes. I know of

A GATHIilUNU OF "OLD BUCKS

Club Life among Outcasts 75

other boys of the same type who, instead of stealing,
burn barns and outhouses. Young as they are, their
moral obliquity is so definitely developed that they do
such things passionately. They like to see the blaze, and
yet when asked wherein the fun lies, they cannot tell.
How to reform such boys is a question which, I
think, has never been settled satisfactorily. For one, I
do not believe that they can ever be helped by any
clubs organized for their improvement. They have no
interest in such things, and none can be awakened
strong enough to kill their interest in criminal prac-
tices. They are mentally maimed, and practically
belong in an insane asylum. In saying this I do not
wish to be understood as paying tribute to the '' fad "
of some philanthropic circles, which regard the crimi-
nal as either diseased or delinquent— as born lacking
in mental and moral aptitudes, or perverted through
no fault of his own. Without any attempt to tone
down the reproach of criminality, or to account for
the facts by heredity or environment, it still remains
true that in thousands of cases there is as direct evi-
dence of insanity in a boy's crimes and misdemeanors
as in a man's, and I firmly believe tliat a more scien-
tific century will institute medical treatment of juve-
nile crime, and found reform schools where the cure of
insanity will be as much an object as moral instruc-
tion and character-building.

IV

Club life among the Natives,— the older outcasts,
—although in many respects quite different from that
of the Kids, is in some ways strikingly similar.

76 ' Tramping with Tramps

There are, for instance, young rowdies and roughs
whose main pleasures are mischief and petty misde-
meanors, just as among the young boys in Chicago.
But in place of breaking church windows and turning
over horse-blocks, they join what are called ''scrap-
pin' gangs," and spend most of their time in fighting
hostile clubs of the same order. They are not clever
enough as yet to become successful criminals ; they
are too brutal and impolite to do profitable begging,
and as rowdyism is about the only thing they can take
part in, their associations become pugilistic clubs.

How these originated is an open question even
among the rowdies themselves. My own explanation
of their origin is this : Every community, if it is at all
complex and varied, has different sets of outcasts and
ne'er-do-wells, just as it has varieties of respectable
people. In time these different sets appropriate, often
quite accidentally, territories of their own. One set,
for example, will live mainly on the east side of a city,
and another set on the west side. After some resi-
dence in their distinct quarters, local prejudices and
habits are formed, and, what is more to the point, a
local patriotism grows. The east-sider thinks his
hang-outs and dives are the best, and the west-sider
thinks the same of his. Out of this conceit there
comes invariably a class hatred, which grows, and
finally develops into the ''scrappin' gangs," the pur-
pose of which is to defend the pride of each separate
district. In New York I know of over half a dozen
of these pugnacious organizations, and they fight for
as many different territories. I have seen in one
club young and old of both sexes joined together to

Club Life among Outcasts 77

defend their "kentry," as they called the street or
series of .streets in which they lived. The majority of
the real fighters, however, are powerful fellows be-
tween the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. Some-
times they live at home, and a few pretend to do
some work, but most of them are loafers, who spend
their time in drinking, gambling, and petty thieving.
They usually sleep in old tenements and cheap lodging-
houses, and in the daytime they are either in the streets
or at some dive supported mainly by their patronage.

I knew such a place in the city of New York, on the
East Side, and not far from the Brooklyn Bridge. It
was kept by an Irishman, and he had no customers
other than those belonging to a ^'scrappin' gang" called
the ''Rappers." There were two rooms— one front-
ing on the street, and used as a bar-room; the
other, in the rear, was the gambling- and " practisin' "-
room. Here they came every night, played cards,
drank stale beer, and exercised themselves in fisti-
cuffing and "scrappin'." I visited them one night,
and saw some of their movements, as they called the
various triangles and circles which they formed as
strategic guards when attacking the hostile gangs of
the West Side. One of them they nicknamed the '' V
gag," and prided themselves on its efficiency. It was
simply a triangle which they formed to charge the
better into the ranks of their enemies, and it reminded
me strongly of football tactics.

That same night they were to scuffle with a West-
Side gang called the '■ Ducks," as one of their members
had been insulted by one of the Duck gang. Battle
was to be joined in a certain alley not far from Eighth

78 Tramping with Tramps

Avenue, and they started out, their pockets full of
stones, in companies of two and three, to meet later in
the alley. I accompanied the leader, a fellow called the
" slugger," and reached the alley about eleven o'clock.
He wanted me to give my assistance, but I told him
that I could play war correspondent much better, and
so was excused from action. And it was action indeed.
They had hardly reached the battle-ground before the
Ducks were upon them, and rocks flew and fists punched
in a most terrific manner. Noses bled, coats were
torn, hats were lost, and black eyes became the fash-
ion. This went on for about fifteen minutes, and the
battle was over. The Rappers were defeated fairly
and squarely, but, as the slugger said, when we were
all at the hang-out again, " we m ought 'a' licked 'em
ef we 'd 'a' had 'em over here."

Such is the " scrappin' gang." Every large city sup-
ports one or two, and London has a score of them.
They make some of its districts uninhabitable for re-
spectable persons, and woe to the man who tries to
interfere with them. As their members die or grow
old, younger fellows come forward, often enough out
of the very boys' clubs I have described, and take the
place of the departed heroes. This is what rowdies
call life.

Like the famous Sttidenten- Corps in Germany, they
need some sort of rough excitement, and the bloodier
it is the happier they are. They have so much heart
in them that no ordinary exercise relieves it, and they
institute these foolish fighting clubs. It is possible
that some sweet-natured philanthropist might go
among them and accomplish wonders. In London

Club Life among Outcasts 79

the Salvation Army has done some splendid work
with these same rowdies, and I know personally sev-
eral who are to-day respectable working-men. But as
for organizing polite clubs among them on any large
scale, I think it impossible.

Among the other Natives, club life, as a rule, cen-
ters around the saloon, where they gather to ex-
change news bulletins and meet their cronies. There
are varieties of these saloons, corresponding to the
varieties of outcasts, and in Chicago there are over
twenty, each one of which is supported by a different
clique and species; but these are not exactly clubs.
The saloons are meeting-places more than anything
else, or a sort of post-office. In the main they are
very much like any other saloon, except that their
clientele comes principally from the outcasts' world;
and about all the life they afford is a boisterous
joviality, which seldom takes definite shape. It is
proper to say right here that criminal outcasts, as a
rule, never form clubs so marked in individuality as
the "scrappin' gang." The thief, the burglar, the
pickpocket, and other '^professionals," although gre-
garious and friendly enough, do not organize simply
for the sake of sociability. When they combine it is
more for the sake of business than anything else, and
whatever social life they seem to need is furnished
them at the saloon or some private hang-out. This
is also true to a great extent of all the Natives who
have passed their thirtieth year. At that age they

8o Tramping with Tramps

are usually so sobered, and have seen so much of the
world, that they cannot get much pleasure out of the
clubs that the younger men enjoy. The ''scrappin^
gang" no more appeals to them as a pastime or a
source of happiness than it does to an old rounder.
They feel happier in simply sitting on a bench in a
saloon and talking over old times or planning new ad-
ventures. Whatever excitement remains for them in
life is found mainly in carousals. Of these I have
seen a goodly number, but I must confess that after
all they are only too similar to carousals in high life,
the only noticeable difference being their greater fre-
quency. They occur just about four times as often
as anywhere else, because the outcast, and especially
the criminal, is intensely emotional ; he can never live
very long without some kind of excitement, and the
older he grows the more alluring become his drinking-
bouts. When his opportunities in this direction are
shut off by jail- walls, he improvises something else,
which often takes organized form ; but it must be
remembered that such organizations are purely make-
shifts, and that the members would rather sit in some
low concert-hall or saloon and have an old-time drink-
ing-bout, if circumstances were only favorable.

VI

The most interesting of these impromptu clubs is
the one called in the vernacular the '^Kangaroo
Court." It is found almost entirely in county jails, in
which petty offenders and persons awaiting trial are
confined. During the day the prisoners are allowed

Club Life among Outcasts 81

the freedom of a large hall, and at night they lodge
in cells, the locks of which are sometimes fastened
and sometimes not. The hall contains tables, benches,
daily papers, and, in some instances, stoves and kitchen
utensils. The prisoners walk about, jump, and play
various games. After a while these games become
tiresome, and the "Kangaroo Court" is formed. It
consists of all the prisoners, and the officers are elected
by them. The positions they fill are the " judgeship,"
the " searchership," the •' spankership," and general
" juryship." To illustrate the duties of these various
officials, I shall give a personal experience in a county
jail in New York State. It was m}^ first encounter with
the " Kangaroo Court."

I had been arrested for sleeping in an empty box-
car. The watchman found me and lodged me in the
station-house, where I spent a most gloomy night
wondering what my punishment would be. Early in
the morning I was brought before the '^ squire." He
asked me what my name might be, and I replied that
" it might be Billy Rice."

"What are you doing around here, Billy?" he
queried further.

" Looking for work, your Honor."

" Thirty days," he thundered at me, and I was led
away to the jail proper.

I had three companions at the time, and after we
had passed the sheriff and his clerk, w^ho had noted
down all the facts, imaginary and otherwise, that we
had cared to give him about our family histories, we
were ushered pell-mell into the large hall. Surrounded
in a twinkling by the other prisoners, we were asked

82 Tramping with Tramps

to explain our general principles and misdemeanors.
This over, and a few salutations exchanged, a tall and
lanky rogue cried out in a loud voice :

'^ The Kangru will now k'lect."

There were about twenty present, and they soon
planted themselves about us in a most solemn man-
ner. Some rested on their haunches, others lounged
against the walls, and still others sat quietly on the
flagstones. As soon as entire quiet had been reached,
the tall fellow, who, by the way, was the judge, in-
structed a half-grown companion, whom he nick-
named the ^^ searcher," to bring his charges against
the newcomers. He approached us solemnly and in
a most conventional manner, and said :

'^ Priz'ners, you is charged with havin' boodle in
yer pockets. Wha' does you plead— guilty or not
guilty?"

I was the first in line, and pleaded not guilty.

'^ Are you willin' to be searched ? " asked the judge.

^' I am, your Honor," I replied.

Then the searcher inspected all my pockets, the
lining of my coat, the leather band inside my hat, my
shoes and socks, and finding nothing in the shape of
money, declared that I was guiltless.

^' You are discharged," said the judge, and the jury-
men ratified the decision with a grunt.

A young fellow, a vagrant by profession, was the
next case. He pleaded not guilty, and allowed him-
self to be searched. But unfortunately he had for-
gotten a solitary cent which was in his vest pocket.
It was quickly confiscated, and he was remanded for
trial on the charge of contempt of the "Kangru."

Club Life among Outcasts 83

The next victim pleaded guilty to the possession of
thirty-six cents, and was relieved of half. The last
man, the guiltiest of all, although he pleaded inno-
cence, was found out, and his three dollars were taken
away from him instanter ; he, too, was charged with
contempt of court. His case came up soon after the
preliminaries were over, and he was sentenced by the
judge to walk the length of the corridor one hundred
and three times each day of his confinement, besides
washing all the dishes used at dinner for a week.

After all the trials were over, the confiscated money
was handed to the genuine turnkey, with instructions
that it be invested in tobacco. Later in the day the
tobacco was brought into the jail and equally divided
among all the prisoners.

The next day I, with the other late arrivals, was
initiated as a member of the ^' Kangaroo Court." It
was a very simple proceeding. I had to promise that
I would always do my share of the necessary cleaning
and washing, and also be honest and fair in judging
the cases which might come up for trial.

Since then I have had opportunities of studying
other " Kangaroo Courts," which have all been very
much like the one I have described. They are both
socialistic and autocratic, and at times they are very
funny. But wherever they are they command the
respect of jail-birds, and if a prisoner insults the court
he is punished very severely. Moreover, it avails him
nothing to complain to the authorities. He has too
many against him, and the best thing he can do is to
become one of them as soon as possible.

Other clubs of this same impromptu character are

84 Tramping with Tramps

simple makeshifts, which last sometimes a week, and
sometimes but a day, if a more substantial amusement
can be found to take their place. One, of which I was
a member, existed for six hours only. It was organ-
ized to pass the time until a train came along to carry
the men into a neighboring city. They selected a king
and some princes, and called the club the '^ Royal
Flush." Every half -hour a new king was chosen, in
order to give as many members as possible the privi-
leges which these offices carried with them. They
were not especially valuable, but nevertheless novel
enough to be entertaining. The king, for instance,
had the right to order any one to fill his pipe or bring
him a drink of water, while the princes were permitted
to call the commoners all sorts of names as long as
their official dignity lasted. So far as I know, they
have never met since that afternoon camp on the
prairies of Nebraska; and if they are comfortably
seated in some favorite saloon, I can safely say that
not one of them would care to exchange places with
any half -hour king.

A little experience I had some time ago in New York
will show how well posted the Natives are regarding
these favorite saloons. I was calling on an old friend
at a saloon in Third Avenue at the time. After I had
told him of my plan to visit certain Western cities,
and had mentioned some of them, he said :

'' Well, you wan' ter drop in at the Half in State
Street when you strike Chi [Chicago] ; 'n' doan' forget
Red's place in Denver, 'n' Dutch Mary's in Omaha.
They '11 treat you square. Jes left Mary's place 'bout a
week ago, 'n' never had a better time. Happy all the

Club Life among Outcasts 85

while, 'n' one day nearly tasted meself, felt so good.
There 's nothin' like knowin' such places, you know.
'F you get into a strange town, takes you a ter'ble while
to find yer fun 'less yer posted. But you '11 be all
right at Red's 'n' Mary's, dead sure."

So the stranger is helped along in low life, and the
Natives take just as much pride in passing him on
to other friends and other clubs as does the high-life
club-man. It gives them a feeling of importance,
which is one of their main gratifications.

vn

Of the Old Bucks,— the superannuated outcasts,—
and their club life, there is very little to say. Walk
into any low dive in any city where they congregate,
and you can see the whole affair. They sit there on the
benches in tattered clothes, and rest their chins on
crooked sticks or in their hands, and glare at one
another with bloodshot eyes. Between drinks they
discuss old times, old pals, old winnings, and then
wonder what the new times amount to. And now and
then, when in the mood, they throw a little crude
thought on politics into the air. I have heard them
discuss home rule, free trade, the Eastern question,
and at the same time crack a joke on a hungry mos-
quito. A bit of wit, nasty or otherwise, will double
them up in an instant, and then they cough and
scramble to get their equilibrium again.

Late at night, when they can sit no longer on the
whittled benches, and the bartender orders them
home, they crawl away to musty lodging-houses and

86 Tramping with Tramps

lie down in miserable bunks. The next morning they
are on hand again at the same saloon, with the same
old jokes and the same old laughs. They keep track
of their younger pals if they can, and do their best
to hold together their close relationships, and as one
of their number tumbles down and dies, they remem-
ber his good points, and call for another beer. The
Natives help them along now and then, and even
the boys give them a dime on special occasions. But
as they never need very much, and as low life is often
the only one they know, they find it not very difficult
to pick their way on to the end. If you pity them
they are likely to laugh at you, and I have even known
them to ask a city missionary if he would not take a
drink with them.

To think of enticing such men into decent clubs is
absurd ; the only respectable place they ever enter is
a reading-room— and then not to read. No, indeed!
Watch them in Cooper Union. Half the time their
newspapers are upside down and they are dozing.
One eye is always on the alert, and the minute they
think you are watching they grip the newspaper
afresh, fairly pawing the print with their greasy fingers
in their eagerness to carry out the r61e they have
assumed. One day, in such a place, I scraped ac-
quaintance with one of them, and, as if to show that
it was the literary attraction which brought him
there, he suddenly asked me in a most confidential
tone what I thought of Tennyson. Of course I
thought a good deal of him, and said so, but I had
hardly finished before the old fellow querulously
remarked :

^Lb^ilUMT.

Club Life among Outcasts 89

" Don' cher think the best thing he ever did was that
air ' Charge of the Seventeen Hundred ' ? "

vm

I HAVE already said that, so far as the older outcasts
are concerned, there is but little chance of helping
them by respectable clubs; they are too fixed in
their ways, and the best method of handling them is
to destroy their own clubs and punish the members.
The '^ scrappin' gang," for example, should be treated
with severe law, whenever and wherever it shows its
bloody hand, and if such a course were adopted and
followed it would accomplish more good than any
other conceivable method. The same treatment must
be applied to the associations of other Natives, for the
more widely they are separated and thus prevented
from concourse the better will it be. It is their gre-
gariousness which makes it so difficult to treat with
them successfully, and until they can be dealt with
separately, man for man, and in a prison-cell if neces-
sary, not much can be accomplished. The evils in low
life are contagious, and to be treated scientifically they
must be quarantined and prevented from spreading.
Break up its gangs. Begin at their beginnings.
For let two outcasts have even but a little influence
over a weak human being, and there are three out-
casts; give them a few more similar chances, and
there will be a gang.

I would not have any word of mine lessen the grow-
ing interest in man's fellow-man, or discourage by so
much as a pen-stroke the brotherly influences on the

go Tramping with Tramps

*' fallen brother " which are embodied in neighborhood
guilds and college settlements of the present, but I
am deeply convinced that there is a work these organi-
zations cannot, must not, do. That work must be
done by law and government. Vice must be punished,
and the vicious sequestrated. Public spirit and citizen-
ship duly appreciated and exercised must precede phi-
lanthropy in the slums. Government, municipal and
State, must be a John the Baptist, preparing the way
and making the paths straight, ere the embodied love
of man and love of God can walk safely and effectively
therein.

IV

THE AMERICAN TRAMP CONSIDERED
GEOGRAPHICALLY

SOME years ago I was sitting, one spring after-
noon, on a railroad-tie on "The Dope"^ when
New York Barcas appeared on the scene. There was
nothing very peculiar about Barcas, except his map of
the United States. Not that he ever set up to be a
topographer, or aspired to any rivalry with Johnston,
Kiepert, or Zell ; but, like the ancients, Barcas had his
known and his unknown world, and, like them again,
he described the land he knew just as if it was all the
world there was. I came to know Barcas's map in this
wise:

We were both talking about certain tramp districts
in the community, and I noticed that his idea of
north, south, east, and west was somewhat different
from mine. So, in order that our conversation might
not be troubled with petty arguments on geographical
boundaries, I asked him to map out the country for
me according to his "best light" ; and this is how he
did it. He took out his pencil and drew a line from

1 The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad— called ^'The Dope " be-
cause it is so greasy.

91

92 Tramping with Tramps

the Canadian frontier through Chicago to St. Louis,
and another line from the Atlantic through Washing-
ton to the same point, and called aU the territory-
north of the last-named boundary the East. He
drew still another line from St. Louis to the Pacific
coast, and called all the States north of this and west
of Chicago the West. His North comprised all Can-
ada, but he considered the province of Quebec the
most prominent tramp territory in this district. His
South was all that remained below his equatorial line,
but the eastern part of it he nicknamed Niggerland,
while the western part, bordering on the Pacific Ocean,
he called the Coast.

This was the extent of Bareas's geography when I
knew him. He seemed to realize that there are other
countries in the world besides this one which he and
his confreres consider laid out for their own particular
benefit; nevertheless, in daily life and conversation
the other divisions of the world are so conscientiously
ignored for all practical purposes that North America
may safely be said to comprise the American tramp's
general idea of the earth. He knows well enough that
he has brothers in other lands, but he considers them
so unlucky in being left to ply their trade outside of
his own peculiar paradise that he feels it necessary
to ignore them. For in spite of the constitutional
Bohemianism of his nature, he is still far from being
a cosmopolitan. If he has suffering brethren in other
communities, his heart does not throb for their sor-
row. No, indeed! He simply says: ^'Why don't
they get out o' those blasted holes and come over
here? This is the only country for the tramp."

The American Tramp, Geographically 93

There is a great deal of truth in this, and my purpose
in this chapter is to give an account of tramp traits,
successes, and failures in this land of freedom. I
shall take up the various districts as Barcas indi-
cated them, not, however, because his points of the
compass are at all typical or representative. No;
Barcas's map is not for general circulation, and for
this very good reason it would probably be difficult
to find ten vagrants whose views would coincide with
his or with those of any other ten idlers. This is a ^
peculiarity of the vagabond, and it must be excused, for
it has its raison d'etre.

THE NORTH

This district (Canada) hardly belongs to the real
American vagabondage. It is true that the hobo
crosses the frontier now and then, and makes a short
journey into Quebec, but it can scarcely be called a
trip on business. It is undertaken more for the sake
of travel, and a desire to see " them fellers up in /
Canady," and the scenery too, if the traveler is a lover
of nature, as many hoboes are. As a rule, Canada is
left pretty much in the hands of the local vagabonds,
who are called '' Frenchies." I have never thoroughly
explored their territory, and, unfortunately, cannot
write as definitely and comprehensively about their
character as I would wish to do. However, the fol-
lowing facts are true as far as they go.

The main clan of Canadian tramps is composed of
French-Canadians and Indians. I have never met a
genuine tramp of this class who was born in France

94 Tramping with Tramps

proper, yet I can well believe that there are such. The
language of these beggars is a jargon partly French and
partly English, with a small hobo vocabulary added
thereto. Only a very few American tramps can speak
this queer lingo. I have met a gipsy now and then
who at least understood it, and I account for this on
the ground that a large number of the words resemble
those in the gipsy dialect. PtmOj for instance, means
bread in both languages.

To be a successful beggar in Canada, one must be able
to speak French, for Quebec is one of the main tramp
districts, and the local population uses this language
principally. The " Galway " (Catholic priest) is per-
haps the best friend of the Frenchies ; at any rate,
this has been my experience. He gives alms ten
times where a peasant gives once, and when a vaga-
bond can find a cloister or a convent, he is almost sure
to be well taken care of. The peasants, it must be
remembered, are about all the Frenchies have after
the Galway. To show how wise they are in doling
out their charity, it is only necessary to say that the
usual Frenchy is content when he gets his three meals
a day without working. And as for myself, I can say
that I have gone hungry for over thirty hours at a
stretch in Canada, and this, too, although I was care-
ful to visit every house that I passed. But the Cana-
dian tramp is evidently satisfied with small rewards,
else he could not live long in his chosen district. As
I know him, he is a slow-going fellow, fond of peace
and quiet, and seldom desirous of those wild ^'slop-
ping-ups " in American trampdom for which so much
money is needed. If he can only have some outcast

The American Tramp, Geographically 95

woman, or " sister/' as he calls her, to accompany him
on his travels, and to make homelike and comfort-
able the little tent which he often carries ; and if he
can have his daily jjdiio and his usual supply of doliun
(tobacco), he is a comparatively happy fellow. He
reminds me more of the European tramp in general
character than any other human parasite I can think
of ; and I shall be exceedingly sorry if he ever gets
a foothold in the United States, because he is a va-
grant down to the core, and this can hardly be said as
yet of most American tramps. It is almost impossible
to touch his emotions, and he usually looks upon the
world as his enemy. He can hardly be called a vic-
tim of liquor, but rather the victim of an ill-matched
parentage. He is often on the mercy of the world
before he knows how he came into it, and it is not
wonderful that he should drift into a class where no
questions are asked, and where even the murderer is
received with some distinction. To reform such a
man requires that the social polity itself be permeated
by a higher order of ethics than governs it at present
—a truth quite as applicable in certain districts of the
United States as elsewhere.

THE EAST

The tramps of this part of the country represent
the main intelligence as well as " respectability " of the
brotherhood. They also comprise the most success-
ful criminal element. But of course the vocation of
the great majority is simply begging. To tell exactly
where they thrive, and to particularize carefully,

96 Tramping with Tramps

would take a book by itself, and the most I can do is
to give a very general idea of the district.

New England, as a whole, is at present poor begging
territory for those vagabonds who are not clever and
not able to dress fairly weU. Boston is the beggar's
metropolis as well as the New England millionaire's,
and, untn a few years ago. Bughouse Mary's Tramp
Home was as much a Boston institution as Tremont
Temple or the Common. One could find there tramps
of all grades of intelligence, cleanliness, and manners.
And even in the streets I have often been able to
pick out the ''begging brothers'' by the score from
the general crowd. But it must not be forgotten that
a city offers privileges to beggars which the rural dis-
tricts deny, and probably, if the police authorities
were more diligent than they are now, even Boston
could be rid of the great majority of its worst loafers.
I must admit, however, that it will be difficult ever to
banish the entire tramp tribe, for some of them are
exceedingly clever, and when decently clad can play
the role of almost any member of society. For in-
stance, I tramped through Connecticut and Rhode
Island once with a '' fawny man." ^ Both of us were
respectably dressed, and, according to my companion's
suggestion, we posed as strolling students, and always
offered to pay for our meals and lodging ; but the offer
was never accepted. Why? Because the farmers
'' considered themselves repaid by the interesting ac-
counts of our travels, and talks about politics," etc.
My friend was very sharp and keen, and carried on a
successful trade in spurious jewelry with some of the
1 A peddler of bogus jewelry.

The American Tramp, Geographically 97

foolish country boys, when he was not discussing the
probabilities of the presidential election. I am sure
that I could travel through New England to-day, if
respectably clad, and be gratuitously entertained
wherever I should go ; and simply because the credu-
lity of -the charitable is so favorable to " traveling
gentlemen."

One of the main reasons why Massachusetts is such
poor territory for the usual class of vagrants is its
jail system. In many of these jails the order and
discipline are superb, and work is required of the
prisoners— and work is the last thing a real tramp
ever means to undertake. I cannot help looking for-
ward to very gratifying results to trampdom from the
influence of the present Massachusetts jail System.
For anything which brings the roving beggar into con-
tact with sobriety and labor is bound to have a bene-
ficial effect. New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Ohio, and Michigan are all fairly good tramp States,
and all swarm with allowed beggars. The most re-
markable feature of vagrancy in New York State is
that wonderful town known among vagrants as the
'^ City " and also as '^ York." This is the most notorious
tramp-nest in the United States. I have walked along
the Bowery of an afternoon, and counted scores of
men who never soil their hands with labor, and beg
on an average a dollar a day. Even the policemen of
this city are often friends of beggars, and I have sel-
dom met a hobo who was very angry with a New
York " bull." As a rule, the police officer, when find-
ing tramps drunk on door-steps or begging, says in a
coarse and brutal voice, '^ Get out ! " and possibly gives

98 Tramping with Tramps

tliem a rap with his club, but it is altogether too seldom
that the beggar is arrested. One rather odd phase of
tramp life in New York cit}^ is the shifting boundary-
line that marks the charity of the town. Several
years ago Eighty-ninth Street was about as far up-
town as one could secure fair rewards for diligent
begging. Now one can see tramps, on a winter
night especially, scattered all along One Hundred and
Twenty-fifth Street, not because this street is the only
'^ good one," but because it is so '' good " that better
profits are realized than in those farther down. And
for clothes, I have always found Harlem more profit-
able than other parts of the city. New York city is
also one of the best places in the country for " snaring
a kid"— persuading some youngster to accompany an
older beggar on the road. There are so many raga-
mufiins lying around loose and unprotected in the
more disreputable quarters of the town that it is only
necessary to tell them a few '' ghost-stories" (fancy tales
of tramp life) to make them follow the story-teller as
unresistingly as the boys of Hamelin marched after
the Pied Piper. Almost every third boy that one
meets in American vagabondage hails from "York."
This accounts for the fact that several tramps of New
York birth have the same name, for even the beggar's
ingenuity is not capable of always hitting upon a
unique cognomen. I have met fully a dozen roadsters
having the name of " Yorkey," "New York Bob,"
" New York Whitey," " New York Slim," etc., which
makes it not only the fashion but a necessity, when
hearing a city tramp's name, to ask which Whitey,
which Yorkey, or which Bob it is, and a personal de-

The American Tramp, Geographically 99

scription is usually necessary before the fellow can be
distinguished.

Over in New Jersey, I think, there are more tramps
to the square mile than in any other State, excepting
Pennsylvania. The neighborhood around Newark is
simply infested with beggars, who meet there on their
way into and out of New York city. They often have
a hang-out on the outskirts of the town, where they
camp quite unmolested, unless they get drunk and
draw their razors, which is more than common with
Eastern tramps. It is surprising, too, how well they
are fed, when one remembers that they have "bat-
tered" in this community for years. It is in Penn-
sylvania, however, that the tramp is best fed, while I
still maintain that he gets more money in New York
city. I do not know of a town or \allage in the Key-
stone State where a decently clad roadster cannot get
all that he cares to eat without doing a stroke of work
in payment. The jails are also a great boon to the
fraternity. In the majority of them there is no work
to do, while some furnish tobacco and the daily papers.
Consequently, in winter, one can see tramps sitting
comfortably on benches drawn close to the fire, and
reading their morning paper, and smoking their after-
breakfast pipe, as complacently and calmly as the mer-
chant in his counting-room. Here they find refuge
from the storms of winter, and make themselves
entirely at home.

Ohio and Indiana, although fairly friendly to
tramps, are noted for certain "horstile" features.
The main one of these is the well-known "timber-
lesson"— clubbing at the hands of the inhabitants of

loo Tramping with Tramps

certain towns. I experienced this muscular instruc-
tion at one unfortunate time in my life, and I must
say that it is one of the best remedies for vagabondage
that exist. But it is very crude and often cruel. In
company with two other tramps, I was made to run a
gantlet extending from one end of the town of Ox-
ford, Indiana, to the other. The boys and men who
were " timbering " us threw rocks and clubbed us most
diligently. I came out of the scrape with a rather
sore back, and should probably have suffered more
had I not been able to run with rather more than the
usual speed. One of my fellow-sufferers, I heard, was
in a hospital for some time. My other companion
had his eye gouged terribly, and I fancy that he will
never visit that town again. Apart from the " tim-
ber " custom, which, I understand, is now practised in
other communities also these two States are good
begging districts. There are plenty of tramps within
their boundaries, and when "the eagles are gathered
together," the carcass to be preyed upon is not far
away.

The other States of the East have so much in com-
mon with those already described that little need be
said of them. Chicago, however, deserves a para-
graph. This city, although troubled with hundreds
of tramps, and noted for its generosity, is nevertheless
a terror to evil-doers in this, that its policemen handle
beggars according to law whenever they can catch
them. Instead of the tiresomely reiterated " Get
out ! " and the brutal club-swinging in New York,
one gets accustomed in Chicago to "thirty days in
the Bridewell." I know this to be true, for I have

^

The American Tramp, Geographically 103

been in Chicago as a tramp for days at a time, and
have investigated every phase of tramp life in the
city. Of course there are thousands of cases where
the beggar is not caught, but I maintain that when he
is found he is given a lesson almost as valuable as the
one over in Indiana. The cities in the East which the
vagabond considers his own are New York (" York "),
Philadelphia (''Phillie"), Buffalo, Boston, Baltimore,
Chicago (here he is very often deceived), Detroit (an-
other place where he is deceived), and Cincinnati.

Just a word about the Eastern tramp himself. His
language is a slang as nearly English as possible.
Some words, however, would not be understood any-
where outside of the clan. His personal traits are
great conceit, cleverness, and a viciousness which,
although corresponding in the main to the same in
other parts of the country, is nevertheless a little
more refined, if I may use that word, than elsewhere.
The number of his class it is difficult to determine
definitely, but I believe that he and his companions
are many thousands strong. His earnings, so far as
my experience justifies me in judging, range from
fifty cents to over two dollars a day, besides food,
provided he begs steadily. I know from personal
observation that an intelligent beggar can average
the above amount in cities, and sometimes in smaller
towns.

THE WEST *

Vagabondage in this part of the country is com-
posed principally of '^blanket-stiffs," '^ ex-prushuns,"
" gay-cats," and a small number of recognized tramps

104 Tramping with Tramps

who, however, belong to none of the foregoing classes,
and are known simply as '' Westerners." The blanket-
stiffs are men (or sometimes women) who walk, or
"drill," as they say, from Salt Lake City to San
Francisco about twice a year, begging their way from
ranch to ranch, and always carrying their blankets
with them. The ex-prushuns are young fellows who
have served their apprenticeship as kids in the East,
and are in the West '^ looking for revenge," i. e., seek-
ing some kid whom they can press into their service
and compel to beg for them. The gay-cats are men
who will work for '^ very good money," and are usually
in the West in the autumn to take advantage of the
high wages offered to laborers during the harvest
season. The Westerners have no unique position, and
resemble the Easterner, except that they as well as
the majority of other Western rovers drink alcohol,
diluted in a little water, in preference to other liquors.
On this account, and also because Western tramps
very often look down upon Eastern roadsters as
'Henderfeet," there is not that brotherly feeling be-
tween the East and the West in vagrancy that one
might expect. The Easterners think the Western
brethren too rough and wild, while the latter think
the former too tame. However, there is a continual
intercourse kept up by the passing of Westerners to
the East, and vice versa, and when neither party is
intoxicated the quarrel seldom assumes very danger-
ous proportions.

Of the States in the Western district, I think that
Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Colorado, Wash-
ington, and a part of California are the best for tramps.

The American Tramp, Geographically 105

Iowa is usually liked very much by roadsters, but its
temperance principles used to be thoroughly hated, as
were also those of Kansas. It is needless to say, how-
ever, that in the river towns a tramp could usually have
all the liquor he could stand. I was in Burlington once
when there was a Grand Army celebration, which the
tramps were attending (!) in full force ; and the amount
of ^' booze" that flowed was something astounding for
a " dry " State. Nearly every vagrant that I met had
a bottle, and when I asked where it came from, I was
directed to an open saloon ! A great fad in Nebraska,
Iowa, and Kansas is to beg from the hotels. I have
received hospitality in these places when I could get
absolutely nothing at the private houses. This is
especially true when the cook is a negro. He will
almost always give a beggar a "set-down" (square
meal), and sometimes he will include a bundle of food
" for the journey." Still another fad when I knew the
country was to call at the penitentiaries for clothes:
I saw a man go into the Fort Madison " pen " (Iowa)
one day with clothes not only tattered and torn, but
infested with vermin. When he returned, I hardly
knew him, he was so well dressed. Stillwater Peni-
tentiary in Minnesota also had a notoriety for benevo-
lence of this sort, but I cannot affirm this by personal
observation .

Wisconsin, although not exactly unfriendly to
tramps, is nevertheless a " poor " State, because it has
no very large city and is peopled largely by New-
En glanders. Milwaukee is perhaps the best place for
a beggar. The Germans will give him all the beer he
wants, and feed him well besides, for they are the most

io6 Tramping with Tramps

unwisely generous people in this country. Where they
have a settlement, a tramp can thrive almost beyond
description. For instance, in Milwaukee, as in other
Wisconsin towns, he can batter for breakfast suc-
cessfully from six o'clock until eleven o'clock in the
morning, and is everywhere sure of a cup of coffee.
I once attempted in Milwaukee to see just how many
dinners I could get inside the ordinary dinner-time,
and after an hour and a half I returned to the hang-
out with three bundles of food, besides three dinners
which had already been disposed of. I could have
continued my dining indefinitely, had my capacity
continued.

San Francisco and Denver are the main dependence
of tramps in the West. If one meets a westward-
bound beggar beyond the Mississippi, he may usually
infer that the man is on his way to Denver ; and if he
is found on the other side of that city, and still west-
ward bound, his destination is almost sure to be
" 'Frisco," or at least Salt Lake City, which is also a
popular hang-out. Denver has a rather difficult task
to perform, for the city is really a junction from which
tramps start on their travels in various directions, and
consequently the people have more than their share of
beggars to feed. I have met in the city, at one time, as
many as one hundred and fifty bona-fide tramps, and
every one had been in the town for over a week.
The people, however, do not seem to feel the burden
of this riffraff addition to the population 5 at any rate,
they befriend it most kindly. They seem especially
willing to give money. I once knew a kid who
averaged in Denver nearly three dollars a day for

The American Tramp, Geographically 107

almost a week, by standing in front of shops and
*' battering " the ladies as they passed in and out. He
was a handsome child, and this, of course, must be
taken into consideration, for his success was phe-
nomenal.

'' 'Frisco" is even better than Denver, furnishing
districts in which tramps can thrive and remain for a
longer time unmolested. There are more low lodging-
houses, saloons, and dives 5 and there is also here a
large native class whose character is not much higher
than that of the tramp himself, so that he is lost
among them— often to his own advantage. This
difficulty of identification is a help to roadsters, for
there is nothing that pleases and helps them so much
as to be considered "town bums," the latter being
allowed privileges which are denied to strangers.

In the estimation of the tramp the West does not
rank with the East. The railroads are not so '' good " ;
there are fewer cities 5 even the towns are too far
apart ; in some districts the people are too poor ; and
taking the country as a whole, the inhabitants are by
no means so generous. I doubt whether the average
gains of Western beggars amount to more than twenty-
five cents a day. In " 'Frisco " and Denver, as well as
in a few other large towns, begging is of course much
more remunerative, but in the rural parts the average
wage of a beggar is even below twenty cents a day,
besides food ; at least, this is the result of my observa-
tion. In general the Western tramp is rough, often
kind-hearted, wild and reckless; he always has his
razor with him, and will "cut" whenever there is provo-
cation. The blanket-stiff is perhaps the least violent

io8 Tramping with Tramps

of all ; Ms long walking-tours seem to quiet his passion
somewhat, and overcome his naturally wild tendencies.
The ex-prushun is exactly the opposite, and I know
of no roadster so cruel and mean to the weak as this
young fellow, who is, after all, only a graduated kid.
This is not so surprising, however, when one recollects
that for years he has been subject to the whims and
passions of various '' jockers,'' or protectors, and natu-
rally enough, when released from his bondage, he is
only too likely to wreak his pent-up feelings on the
nearest victim. After a year or two of Western life
he either subsides and returns to the East, or becomes
more intimately connected with the true criminal class,
and attempts to do ^'crooked work.'' Several of the
most notorious and successful thieves have been ex-
prushuns.

Just how many tramps there are in the West it is
even more difficult to decide than in the East, because
they are scattered over such wide territory. Experi-
ence makes me believe, however, that there are fully
half as many voluntary idlers in this part of the coun-
try as in the East. And the great majority of them,
I fear, are even more irreclaimable than their com-
rades in other communities. They laugh at law, sneer
at morality, and give free rein to appetite. Because
of this many of them never reach middle age.

THE SOUTH

Tramp life here has its own peculiarities. There
are white loafers known as ^'hoboes," which is the
general technical term among white tramps every-

The American Tramp, Geographically 109

where, and there are the " sliinies/' who are negroes.
The odd part of it all is that these two classes hardly
know each other; not that they hate each other or
have any color-line, but simply that they apparently
cannot associate together with profit. The hobo seems
to do better when traveling only with hoboes, and the
shiny lives much more comfortably in his own clan.
My explanation of this fact is this : both parties have
learned by experience that alms are much more gener-
ously given to a white man when alone than when in
company with a negro. This, of course, does not
apply anywhere but in the South, for a colored tramp
is just as well treated in the East and West as a white
one.

My knowledge of the shinies is very meager, for I
was compelled to travel as a hobo when studying
vagrancy in the South, and I have never met a mem-
ber of that class who knew very much about his negro
confreres. From all that I can gather, however, I
think that they resemble very closely the gay-cats,
for they do work now and then, although their being
on the road is usually quite voluntary, unless their
natural laziness can be considered as a force impelling
them into trampdom. Their dialect is as different
from the usual tramp lingo as black from white, and
I have never been able to master its orthography.

As the South in the main is only skimmed over by
most white tramps, and as a few cities represent the
true strongholds of vagrancy, it is unnecessary to give
any detailed account of this region. Besides, it is
only in winter that many tramps, excepting, of course,
the shinies, are found here, and consequently there is

110 Tramping with Tramps

not very nmch to describe, for they go into this part
of the country principally to " rest up " and shun the
cold weather prevalent in other districts. The chief
destinations of wandering beggars in the South are
New Orleans, St. Augustine, Jacksonville, Tallahassee,
and Atlanta. Several towns in Texas are also popular
" resting-places," but usually the tramps in Texas have
begged their money in other States, and are there
principally for " a great slopping-up," for which dis-
sipation Texas furnishes much more suitable accom-
modations than any other State in the Union. The
usual time for Eastern and Western tramps to start
South is in October. During this month large squads
of vagabonds will be found traveling toward "Or-
leans." I once was on an Illinois Central freight-train
when seventy-three tramps were fellow-passengers,
and nearly every one was bound for either Florida or
Louisiana. These two States may almost be called
the South so far as hoboes are concerned. New Or-
leans is especially a tramp-nest, and ranks second to
New York in hospitality, according to my experience.
In the older part of the town one can find beggars of
almost every nationality, and its low dives are often
supported by the visiting knights of the road. Beg-
ging, as they do, very fair sums of money, and being
only too willing to spend it quickly, they afford these
innkeepers of the baser sort very fair rewards for
keeping up their miserable " hotels." A well-trained
beggar can very often average a dollar a day in New
Orleans if he begs diligently. But he must be careful
not to be arrested, for the jails in the South are man-
killing holes in many and many an instance. Even

The American Tramp, Geographically 1 1 1

in the East and West several of the county prisons are
bad enough, but they cannot compare in filth to some
of the miserable cells of the South.

Jacksonville and St. Augustine are good hang-
outs for tramps, and in the winter such visitors are
very numerous. They make a very decent living off
the transient tourists at these winter resorts. But
success is so short and precarious there that many
hoboes prefer New Orleans, on account of its steadier
character, and seldom visit the other towns. Besides,
to batter around the hotels in St. Augustine one should
be respectably clad, and polite in manner and bearing,
which, in most cases, involves far too much trouble.

The most generous people in the South are the poor,
but not the negro poor, who, according to my experi-
ence, are by no means large-hearted. Take them in
the East or West, and they are friendly enough, but
on their native heath they are, as a rule, stingy. I
have received much more hospitality from the ^' poor
whites" than from any other people. The negroes,
when I asked them for something to eat, would say :
''Oh, go and ask the Missis. I can't give you any-
thing " ; and when I would call upon the " missis," she
was not to be seen. But the poor white would in-
vite me into his shanty, and treat me as well as was in
his power. It was not much, I must admit ; but the
spirit was willing though the pantry was nearly empty.
In West Virginia, for instance, I have been entertained
by some of the "hill people" in their log cabins in the
most hospitable manner. The obvious reason of this
is a scarcity of tramps ; when they are few, generosity
is great, and the few get the benefit.

112 .Tramping with Tramps

If the students of this particular phase of sociology
will only look minutely and personally into the condi-
tions under which trampdom thrives and increases in
our country, Barcas's map may yet become famous.
Charles Godfrey Leland once wrote an article entitled
^^ Wanted: Sign-Posts for Ginx's Baby." It would
seem that his prayer has been answered, and that
this unwanted, unprovided-for member of society has
found his way through forest and mountains, over
rivers and prairies, till now he knows the country far
better than the philanthropist who would gladly get
on his track. If this topographical survey shall serve
to bring him nearer what should be, and what I am
convinced aims to be, a source of betterment for him,
Barcas wiU not have lived in vain.

THE CITY TRAMP

VAGABONDS specialize nowadays quite as much
as other people. The fight for existence makes
them do it. Although a few tramps are such all-round
men that they can succeed almost anywhere, there are
a great many others who find that they must devote
their time to one distinct line of begging in order to
succeed. So to-day we have all sorts of hoboes.
There are house-beggars, office-beggars, street-beg-
gars, old-clothes beggars, and of late years still
another specialization has become popular in vaga-
bondage. It is called '' land-squatting," which means
that the beggar in question has chosen a particular
district for his operations. Of course, a large number
of tramps still go over all the country, but it is be-
coming quite customary for vagabonds to pick out
certain States and counties for their homes. The
country, as a whole, is so large that no beggar can
ever really know it on business principles, and some
clever beggars not long ago decided that it is better
to know thoroughly a small district than to have only
a general knowledge of the entire continent. Conse-
quently our large cities have become overrun with
tramps who make them their homes the year round,

113

114 Tramping with Tramps

till America can almost compete with England in the
number of her ^' city vags." There is no large town
in the United States that does not support its share,
and it is seldom that these tramps are natives of the
towns in which they beg. In New York, for example,
there are scores of beggars who were born in Chicago,
and vice versa. They have simply picked out the city
which pleases them most and gone there. In time they
become so numerous that it is found necessary to spe-
cialize still further, and even to divide the town itself
into districts, and to assign them to distinct kinds of
begging. It is of these specialists in vagrancy that
I intend to write in this chapter.

The lowest type is what is called in tramp parlance
the " tomato-can vag." In New York city, which has
its full quota of these mis rable creatures, they live in
boxes, barrels, cellars, and nooks and corners of all
sorts, where they can curl up and have a "doss''
(sleep). They get their food, if it can be called that,
by picking over the refuse in the slop-barrels and to-
mato-cans of dirty alleys. They beg very little, asking
usually for the stale beer they find now and then in
the kegs near saloons. Money is something that they
seldom touch, and yet a good many of them have been
first-class criminals and hoboes in their day.

I used to know a tomato-can tramp who lived for
several months in a hogshead near the East-Side docks
of New York. I visited him one night when on a
stroU in that part of the cifcy, and had a talk with him
about his life. After he had reeled off a fine lot of
yarns, he said:

" Why, I remember jes lots o' things. I 's been a

TOMATO-CAN TRAAIPS.

The City Tramp 117

crook, I ^s been a moocher, an' now I 's shatin' on me
uppers [I am broke]. Why, what I 's seen would
keep them blokes up there in Cooper Union readin' all
winter, I guess."

This was probably true. He had been everywhere,
had seen and done nearly everything which the usual
outcast can see and do, and he wound up his life simply
^' shatin' on his uppers." No one will have anj'- deal-
ings with such a tramp except the men and women in
his own class. He is hated by all the beggars above
him, and they '^ do " him every chance they get.

A fair example of this class hatred came under my
notice in London, England. I was walking along Hol-
born one evening when I was suddenly accosted by an
old man who wanted me to give him a drink.

^' I would n't ask ye," he said, '' 'cept that I 'm nearly
dyin' o' cold. Can' cher help a feller out ? "

There was something so pitiful about him that I
decided to take him into a public house. I picked out
the lowest one in the neighborhood. The place was
filled with beggars and criminals, but they were all of
a higher class than my friend. However, I called for
his gin, and told him to sit down. It was soon evi-
dent that the old man was an unwelcome guest, for
even the bartender looked at him crossly. He noticed
this, and began to grumble, and in a few minutes
was in a quarrel with some of the men. The bar-
tender told him to be quiet, but he claimed that he
had as good a right to talk as any one else. He was
finally put out, although I made all the remonstrance
I dared. I started to leave too, but was prevented.
This made me angry, and I turned on the men, and said :

i/

1 18 Tramping with Tramps

'' What right have you fellows to treat me this w&y ?
I came in with the old man respectably enough."

" Oh, come up 'n' 'ave a drink," said one of the men.
"Don't get 'uffy. Come up V 'ave a bitter."

Then another said : " Say, was that old feller any
relation o' yourn? 'Cause ef 'e was, we '11 fetch 'im
back ; but ef 'e wa'n't, 'e kin stay where 'e is. 'E don't
belong in 'ere."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Why, don' cher know that 'e ain't 0' our class?
'E 's a' ole can-moocher. 'E ain't got no right 'ere."

" Well, do you mean to say that you own this place,
and no one can come in who is not of your choosing ? "

" The case is jes this, 'n' you know it : it 's our biz
to do anybody out o' our classj"

" Would you ' do ' me if you had a chance ? "

" Bet cher life ! "

I got out safely soon after this, and had gained
knowledge for the future.

But, hated as he is by the more successful vaga-
bonds, the tomato-can tramp is just as kind-hearted
and jovial as any of them. And for fair treatment I
will risk him every time. As a rule, he is an old man,
sometimes over seventy years of age. He dresses
most outlandishly, seldom having any two garments of
the same color, and what he has are tattered and torn.
His beard and hair are allowed to grow as long as they
can, and usually give him the appearance of a hermit.
Indeed, that is just what he is. He has exiled him-
self from all that is good and refined, and is like a
leper even to his brethren. It is just such a life as his,
however, to which all tramps that drink, as most out-

The City Tramp 119

casts do, are tending. It matters not how clever a
criminal or beggar a man may be, if he is a victim of
liquor, and lives long enough, he is sure to end as a
tomato-can tramp. There is a suction in low life
which draws men continually lower. It is an inferno
of various little worlds, and each has its own pitch of
degradation.

The next higher type of the town tramp is the ^^ two-
cent dosser"— the man who lives in stale-beer shops.
In New York he is usually to be found about Mulberry
Bend, the last resort of metropolitan outcasts before
dropping down into the " barrel-and-box gentry."
This district supports the queer kind of lodging-house
called by the men who use it the " two-cent doss." It
is really a makeshift for a restaurant, and is occasion-
ally kept by an Italian. The lodgers come in late in
the evening, pay two cents for some stale beer or
coffee, and then scramble for "spots" on the benches
or floor. All nationalities are represented. I have
found in one of these places Chinamen, Frenchmen,
Germans, Italians, Poles, negroes. Irishmen, English-
men, and " 'Mer'cans," and they were all as happy as
could be. They beg just enough to keep them in
"booze," their food being found mainly at "free
lunches." Like the tomato-can tramp, they have little
intercourse with beggars above them. By this I mean,
of course, that they know they will not be treated
sociably outside of their class, and decide very wisely
to remain where they belong. They rarely leave a
town which they have picked out as a home, and
some of them never even get out of their narrow
district.

120 Tramping with Tramps

In Chicago, for instance, there is a '^ joint" near
Madison Street in which some men simply live day and
night, excepting the few hours they spend in looking
for the pennies they need. In the daytime they sit on
the benches and talk shop, and at night they lie on the
floor. There is a watchman who cares for them at
night J he sleeps near the door in order to let in any
belated beggar. But he first lights his candle, and
commands the beggar to show how much money he
has. If it is five cents, the price of a mug of beer, he
is allowed to enter.

In New Orleans I once saw a place somewhat simi-
lar, the only difference being that at night ropes were
stretched across the bar-room for the men to lean on
while sleeping. Some persons fail to note much dif-
ference in the lives of the two-cent dossers and the
tomato-can tramps, but the two-cent dossers make a
sharp class distinction out of their greater privilege.
Personally, I should rather live in a barrel or box
than in a joint, if only for the sake of cleanliness.
The joint is simply a nest of vermin, and cannot be
kept clean ; whereas, if a man is careful and works
hard, he can keep a barrel fairly habitable for him-
self, and with no other occupants. Still, I am sorry
to say that few men who do live in barrels achieve or
desire this success. The most unique feature of the
two-cent dosser class is its apparent happiness. The
men are always funny, and crack a joke as easily as
they tell a lie. I remember most vividly a night in
one of their joints in St. Louis. All night long some
one was laughing and joking, and my questions always
met a witty reply. I noticed, for instance, that several

The City Tramp 121

of the men were blind in one eye, and I asked the mean-
ing of this.

"Ha! ha! Don' cher know? Why, it 's 'cause
we 're lookin' fer work so hard."

Another man wanted to know whether I could tell
him where he could get a "kid." I asked him what
use he had for one.

" Oh, prushuns [kids] is vaPable ; when you 've got
'em, you 're treasurer of a company."

Nevertheless, these men very seldom have boys, be-
cause their life is too unexciting, and the lads will not
stay with them. A prushun, as a rule, wants some-
thing livelier than loafing around saloons and corners,
and consequently is rarely found in these two classes.

The other types of city vagabondage can be classi-
fied as the " lodgin'-house gang," with the exception of
the room-beggar. I must therefore consider them in
relation to their different styles of begging rather than
living ; for when once a beggar can live in any sort of
lodging-house, he has a right to belong to the general
crowd, no matter what he pays for his bed. The
seven-center house, for instance, is considerably
lower than the ten-center, but its being a lodging-
house is sufficient to separate its inmates entirely from
the two classes who live in boxes and beer-shops.
And to make the classifying feature more intelligible,
I shall give first a short account of the lodging-house
in all its grades, omitting only those that are carried
on by charity.

Beginning with the lowest, there is the seven-
center, in which hammocks of a bad order are used
as beds. The covering is very often the lodger's coat,

122 Tramping with Tramps

unless he happens to have a blanket of his own. In
winter there is a large stove in the middle of the sleep-
ing-room, and this keeps things fairly warm. The
usual lodger in this house is the town tramp, although
the wandering hobo goes there too. I have also seen
a few genuine seekers of work there, but never two
nights running. One night is usually enough, and
they sleep out in preference to mixing in such a crowd
as the place shelters.

The ten-center is the next grade above, and is
probably the most popular of all in the United States.
It is built after various models, the commonest being
the ^' double-decker," where the bunks are made of gas-
pipe, one right above the other. In this case the bed-
ding is a straw tick and a blanket ; that is all, as a rule.
Yet I have known sheets to be used. Another model
is something like the forecastle of a ship. Around the
walls several tiers of bunks are built, sometimes twelve
feet high, and in the middle is the ^' sitting-room," with
stove and chairs. Occasionally the only bedding is
straw, there being no blanket of any kind. The class
of men found in places of this type is hard to describe ;
the town tramp is there, and so is almost every other
kind of vagabond. It is a sort of cesspool into which
are drained all sorts of outcasts, and the only way
to distinguish them is to know them personalh\
Young and old, the intelligent and the ignorant, the
criminal and the newsboy, all are found in the ten-
center.

The fifteen-center comes next, and is very much
like the ten-center, except that its customers are a
little more orderly, and that it furnishes lockers into

The City Tramp 123

which the lodgers can put their clothes. This latter
point is really the raison d'etre of the Jfif teen-cent lodg-
ing-house, according to my experience. At any rate,
I have failed to see any other good reason for charging
five cents more for the beds, which are usually no better
than those in the ten-center.

In the other grades, at twenty and twenty-five cents
a night a man can have a little room to himself ; by
" room " I mean a sort of cell without a roof, in which
is a cot, a chair (sometimes), and a locker. I slept
in one of these houses in the Bowery one night.
The office and sitting-room were comparatively cozy,
and the lodgers were respectable so far as dress and
general manner were concerned. Up-stairs in the
sleeping-apartments things were not so pleasant.
There was a bad odor about everything, and the beds
were decidedly unclean, as are most beds in most
lodging-houses. I left word at the ofiice that I wished
to be called at seven o'clock in the morning, and my
order was distinctly obeyed, for about half-past six I
was wakened by a man poking me in the ribs with a
long stick leveled at me from over the partition -wall.
After the man had poked me with the stick, he said,
*' Eh, bloke, time to get up."

Some tramps consider this style, and it probably
is in their cases, for they are accustomed to all
sorts of places, and the twenty-five-center is their
nearest approach to hotel life. Although I have
probably overlooked some exceptional institutions in
this general description of lodging-houses, I have
nevertheless given a fair account of the usual homes
of the ^' lodgin'-house gang." And, as I said before,

124 Tramping with Tramps

the town tramp is mixed up in this gang so promis-
cuously that to pick him out of the general crowd
necessitates a personal encounter. All that I can do
now is to portray him in his various guises as a
beggar. I shall take four types to do this— the street-
beggar, the house-beggar, the office-beggar, and the
old-clothes beggar. These are all well-known charac-
ters in city vagabondage.

The street-beggar is, I believe, the cleverest all-round
vagabond in the world. He knows more about human
nature than any other tramp of my acquaintance, and
can read its weak points with surprising ease. I used
to know a New York tramp of this kind who begged
almost entirely of women as they walked along the
streets, and he claimed that he could tell, the minute
he had seen their eyes, whether it would pay to
'^ tackle 'em." How he did this I do not pretend to
know, and he himself could not tell, but it was true
that he seldom judged a woman wrongly. Fifth
Avenue was his beat, and he knew fully fifty women
in that district who were sure to give him something.
His main tricks, if I can call them that, were those of
the voice rather than of the hand. He knew when to
whine and when to '•'■ talk straight," and, best of all, he
knew when to make people laugh. This is the highest
accomplishment of the street-beggar, for when a per-
son, will laugh with him he is pretty sure to get some-
thing ; and if he can succeed in picking out a certain
number of " clients," as he calls them, who will laugh
with him every week the year round, his living is as-
sured. This is the business of the clever street-beggar ;
he must scrape acquaintance with enough people in his

A CITY TRAMP AT "WORK.

The City Tramp 127

chosen district to support him. It matters not to him
whether he excites their pity or mirth so long as he
gets their nickels and dimes. I knew a woman beggar
of this sort whose main trick, or "capital/' as she
called it, was extreme faith in the chivalry of men.
She would clutch a man by the coat-sleeve, and tragi-
cally exclaim :

" How dare you cast me off? Don't you know that
I am a woman? Have you no mother or sisters?
Would you treat them as you are treating me ? "

Some men are so squeamishly and nervously chival-
rous that they will be taken in by such a beggar every
time.

Women very often make the keenest street-beggars.
They are more original in posing and dressing, and if
with their other talents they can also use their voices
cleverly, they do very well. Speaking of posing re-
minds me of a woman who is usually to be found near
the Alhambra music-hall in London. She dresses very
quietly and neatly, and her entire manner is that of
a lady. I believe that she really was one in her day,
but liquor has made her a match- vender ; and her clever
pose and dress are so attractive that people give her
three times the value of the matches which she sells
them. This match-selling is the main trick of the Lon-
don street-beggar. It is a trick of defense against the
police, and at the same time a blind to the public.
People think that men and women selling matches are
trying to earn an honest living, and this is true some-
times ; but, according to my observation, the majority
of match-venders offer one hand to the public for alms,
and carry their '' lights " (matches) in the other.

128 Tramping with Tramps

The business of the house-beggar is obviously to
know a certain number of good houses in his district,
just as the street-beggar knows a certain number of
people in his street or streets. And if he is a mendi-
cant who can deal with women more successfully than
with men, he must know just when to visit houses in
order that only the women may be at home. If he is
a beggar of this style, he usually carries a ^'jigger"—
an artificially made sore, placed usually on an arm or
leg. He calls at the front door and asks for ''the
lady," When she appears he '' sizes her up " as best
he can, and decides whether it will pay to use his
jigger. If it is necessary, he prefaces this disgust-
ing scene by an account of his hardships, and claims
that he has been very badly burned. Then he shows
his miserable sore, and few women are callous enough
to see it without flinching. If they '' squeal," as the
tramp says, he is sure to be rewarded.

Another trick is to send around pretty little girls
and boys to do the begging. A child will succeed at
house-begging when an able-bodied man or woman
will fail utterly, and the same is true of a very old
man— the more of a centenarian he looks, the better.
But better than any of these tricks is what is called the
'' f aintin' gag." I myself had the benefit of an under-
taking of this character in Indianapolis some years ago,
and I know it works well. I got into the town one
night, and was at a loss to know what to do, until I
accidentally met an old hobo who was trying to make
his living there as a city tramp. He had been in the
place only a few days, and had not yet found his par-
ticular district. He was simply browsing about in

The City Tramp 129

search of it, and he suggested that we try a certain
quarter of the town that he had not visited at all.
We did try it, and, after visiting twenty houses, got
only two pieces of bread and butter. This, naturally
enough, made my partner angry, and he told me to
go back to the hang-out while he went on another
beat. I waited for him nearly an hour, when he re-
turned with a ^^ poke-out " (food given at the door) and
a " sinker " (a dollar). I, of course, was surprised, and
asked for details.

^' Oh, I got 'em right 'nough," he said. '' You see,
after leavin' you, I was so dead horstile that I was
ready for anythin', 'n' the first house I struck was a
parson's. At first he did n't want to feed me at all,
but I got into his settin'-room 'n' gave 'im a great
story. I tole 'im that I was nearly a-dyin' with hun-
ger, 'n' ef he did n't feed me, the s'ciety agen' cruelty
to animals 'u'd prosecute 'im. Then I begun to reel a
bit 'n' look faintin'-like, 'n' purty soon I flops right on
the floor as ef I was dead. Then the racket begun.
The parson called ' Wifey ! ' an' the both of 'em pep-
pered 'n' salted me for about ten minutes, when I
comes to an' looks better. Then they could n't feed
me fast 'nough. I had pie, cake, 'n' a lot o' other
things 'fore I wuz done, 'n' when I left the parson give
rae the sinker, 'n' ^ wifey' the poke-out; hope to die
ef they did n't. See ? That 's the way ye got ter catch
them parsons —right in the eye."

As the old-clothes beggar is only a subspecies of
the house-begging class, he deserves mention under
the same head. His business, as his name implies,
lies principally in looking for old wearing-apparel,

130 Tramping with Tramps

which he sells to dealers in such wares. Sometimes
he even pays for his food in order to devote his entire
time and talents to his specialty. In London, for
instance, I know a trio of this sort who live in a cellar
where they keep their " goods." I visited their place
one afternoon, and one of the men was kind enough
to let himself be interviewed about his business. My
first question was how he begged.

" Well, o' course our first business is to wear bad
togs. F'r instance, ef I 's beggin' fer shoes I wants to
put on a pair thet 's all gone, else I can't get any
more, 'n' the same when I 's beggin' fer coats 'n' 'ats.
It 's no use tellin' people that you 're beggin' fer some-
body else. They won't believe it."

Then I questioned him as to the sort of garments
which were most profitable.

'^ Breeches. We kin sell 'em every time. 'Ats does
pretty well too, 'n' ef we get good shoes we kin do a
rattlin' business. One o' my pals made seven bob fer
a week jes out o' shoes. Wimmenses' togs hain't up
ter the men's ; an' yet we does fairly well wid 'em too.
In 'ats, f'r instance, we does fairly good, 'cause the gals
knows where we lives, 'n' they comes right 'ere instid
o' goin' ter the dealers. Petticoats is next best when
we gets good ones, but we don't very often, 'cause
these Whitechapel donners [girls] wants picter-like
ones, 'n' we don't always get 'em. I wish we could
jes stick ter beggin' fer men's togs, 'cause they 's the
best. Jes gimme 'nough breeches, 'n' I won't com-
plain."

In American cities also, men's clothing is the most
profitable for beggars of this sort; very few tramps

The City Tramp 131

ask for " wimmenses' togs." In Germany, however,
all sorts of old clothes are looked for, and the city
tramps are great competitors of the Jews in this busi-
ness. An old German Jew once said to me :

" I wish these Kunden [tramps] were all dead. They
spoil our business right along, because they get their
stuff for nothing, and then undersell us. That is n't
right, and I know it is n't."

In Frankfort-on-the-Main I once knew a Swiss
beggar who collected eighteen pairs of shoes in one*
week, not counting other things that he asked for also.
And he claimed that, after trying various kinds of beg-
ging, he had found the most money in the shoe busi-
ness. Of course, all this depends on a beggar's ability
to make people believe that he is really deserving, for
clothes-beggars, like a number of other specialists,
must have some natural adaptation for their chosen
calling.

This is also true of the office-beggar, or "sticker,"
as he calls himself. His specialty brings him almost
entirely in contact with men, and he must be exceed-
ingly clever to deal successfully with them. A m.an
will argue with a beggar, if he has time, just twice
as long as a woman will, and he will also give just
twice as much money if he gives anything. So the
office-beggar has good material to work on if he
understands it. One of his theories is that, when
begging of men, the *' story " must be " true to nature " ;
that is, so simple and direct that there is no possibility
of doubling on his track. For instance, he will visit
a lawyer, tell his story, and then simply hang around
as long as he dares. It is this waiting so patiently

132 Tramping with Tramps

that gives him his name of " sticker." There are fully
a hundred tramps of this sort in New York city alone.
They have their separate beats, and seldom leave them
unless they are worked out. I know one beggar who
never leavesNewspaper Row and Wall Street except for
amusement, and he makes, on an average, seventy-five
cents a day. And I know another tramp whose busi-
ness keeps him confined to Broadway between Barclay
Street and the Battery, while his home is in the Bowery
near Houston Street. Men of this stamp have evi-
dently been lucky in the selection of offices- where a
certain sum of money will be given every week. Such
good fortune is the ambition of every energetic city
tramp. He wants something definite every day, week,
and month, and as he gets it or fails to get it, rates
himself successful or unsuccessful.

The aristocrat of city vagabondage is represented by
what I call the room-beggar. He cannot be classified
with the lodging-house men, because he has little to do
with them, except socially, as at the saloon or music-
hall, for instance. His home is entirely separated
from theirs, it being a room, and sometimes even an
apartment, which he rents for himself and family. If
he is successful at his trade, and is careful to dress
with some nicety, he can scarcely be distinguished from
the usual citizen, except by the trained observer ; the
only mark about him being that peculiar glance of the
eye common to all criminals and beggars.

The room-beggar has no unique line of trade that I
have been able to discover 5 he goes into anything that
pays, and the main difference between him and the
majority of the men in the " lodgin'-house gang" is

The City Tramp 133

his greater ingenuity in making things pay. He is the
brainy man of the city tramps, and the other beggars
knowit^ and all look up to him, with the exception of the
clever street-beggar, who considers himself his equal,
as I think he really is.

No tramp, for instance, is so clever at the begging-
letter ^'racket," and this means a good deal. To be
able to write a letter to a perfect stranger and make
money out of it requires a skilled hand, and a man
educated in many lines. The public has become some-
what used to this trick, and will not be deceived
every time ; only men of an original turn of mind can
do much with it. It is this originality that is the main
talent of the room-beggar. He concocts stories which
would do credit to a literary man, and sometimes
makes nearly as much money as the daring thief.

Women are also found in this class, and do very
well at times. In the city of Berlin, Germany, there
lived a ^4ady" of this sort. She had two homes.
One was a cellar in a poor quarter of the town, and
the other was an aristocratic etage in the West
End. She sent letters to well-to-do people of all sorts,
in which she claimed to be eine Jiochwohlgeborene
Dame in distress. She invited likely philanthropists
to visit her in her cellar in order that they might see
how unfortunate her position really was. People
went, were shocked, and, as a result, she had her
apartment in the West End. For about ten months
this woman and her two daughters lived in real luxury,
and one of the "young ladies" was to marry in ''high
society " about the time that the ruse was made public.

This is by no means a new trick, and yet people are

134 Tramping with Tramps

being continually swindled. Why ? Simply because
the beggars who undertake it are cleverer than the
people fooled by it. That is the only reason. If
charitable people would only commit charity to skilled
hands it would be much easier to handle beggars. The
tramp is a specialist; so why not leave specialists to
deal with him? The whole trouble comes of our
willingness to be more unpractical in our philanthropy
than in our business.

There is one more city tramp that I must catalogue.
It is the "sponger." His duty in life consists, he
thinks, in simply living off the visiting knights of
the road. He is a parasite fed by parasites, and
hated by all self-respecting beggars. He is found
wherever the traveling hoboes congregate, and there
is no town in any country that I have visited where
he does not flourish. In the Bowery his name is
legion, and a hobo can scarcely visit a saloon there
without meeting him. The wandering vagabond con-
siders him the "bunco-man" of the beggars' world,
and that is a good name. He will do anything to get
money from a hobo, but I doubt very much whether
he ever begs on his own hook. Exactly how he comes
to exist no one knows, but I fancy that he is a discour-
aged tramp ; he has found that he is not a born beggar,
and has concluded that the next best thing is to live
off men who are. If there were no beggars in the
world, he would probably have to work for his living,
for he could not steal successfully.

As for stealing, few town beggars ever go into
that as a business. Of course, they will take things
that do not belong to them if they are sure of not

The City Tramp 135

being caught, but this safety is so vain a hope that
it is seldom ''banked on." It is strange that the
city tramp is not more of a thief, for probably no
one knows more about the town's chances than he.
Criminals are always anxious to have some acquain-
tance in his ranks, knowing only too well that the
''town vag" can post them as no one else can.

Another thing rather more unpopular among town
tramps than is usually supposed is joining a clique.
In New York city, for example, there are various gangs
of toughs who prowl about the town committing all
sorts of depredations and making themselves generally
feared. Even the policemen are now and then held at
bay by them, and woe to the drunken sailor with his
wages in his pockets who falls into their hands. I
have seldom found the city tramp in such company.
He knows too weU the dangers of such crowds,
prefers what he calls the "cut-throat principle," or
each man for himself. There is too much slavery for
him among toughs of the gang order, and he can-
not move around as freely as he likes. Then, too,
gangs are every now and then fighting one another,
and that is usually harder work than the beggar
cares for.

One of the most interesting things in the study of
tramps is to get at their own opinions of themselves.
To a certain degree they may be called rational beings.
There is opinion and method and reason in trampdom,
—no doubt of it,— and there are shades of opinion
that correspond to varieties of method. The tramp
of the prairies, the " fawny man " in New England, the

136 Tramping with Tramps

city tramp in the Bowery, each has his point of view.
If one catechizes or interviews the last named of
these, he says :

^' I 'm a beggar, and I know it. I know, too, that
most people look upon me as a bad sort of fellow.
They want to catch and punish me, and I don't want
them to do it. They are warring against me, and I 'm
warring against them. They think that I don't know
how I should use my life, and I think that I do.
Somebody must be mistaken ; I think that they are,
and I 'm doing my best to beat them. If they beat
me, well and good ; and if I beat them, well and good."

This is the talk of the real artist in low life 5 he is
in the vagabond world because it pleases him better
than any other. A little different is the point of view
of the drunkard beggar :

^' I 'm a fool, and I know it. No man with any
sense and honor would live as I do. But the worst of
it all is, I can't live otherwise. Liquor won't leave
me alone, and as I 've got to live somehow, why, I
might as well live where I can take care of myself.
If people are fools enough to let me swindle them, so
much the worse for them and so much the better for
me."

To change such opinions as these is a hard task.
The first can be corrected only when the man who
owns it is discouraged. When his spirit is broken he
can be helped, but not until then. The second is the
result of long suffering through passion. Until that
passion is conquered nothing can be done.

VI

WHAT THE TRAMP EATS AND WEARS

THE tramp is the hungriest fellow in the world.
No matter who he is,— Chatcsseegrabentapezirer,
moocher, or hobo,— his appetite is invariably ravenous.
How he comes by that quality of his defects is an open
question even in his own mind. Sometimes he ac-
counts for it on the ground that he is continually
changing climate, and then again attributes it to his
incessant loafing. A tramp once said to me : " Ciga-
rette, it ain't work that makes blokes hungry 5 it 's
bummin' ! " I think there is some truth in this, for I
know from personal experience that no work has ever
made me so hungry as simple idling; and while on
the road I also had a larger capacity for food than I
have usually. Even riding on a freight-train for a
morning used to make me hungry enough to eat two
dinners, and yet there was almost no work about it.
And I feel safe in saying that the tramp can usually
eat nearly twice as much as the laboring-man of or-
dinary appetite.

Now, what does he find to satisfy this rapacious
craving 1 There are two famous diets in vagabondage,

137

138 Tramping with Tramps

called the ''hot" and the ''cold." Each one has its
advocates and propagandists. The hot is befriended
mainly by the persevering and energetic ; the cold be-
longs exclusive^ to the lazy and unsuccessful. The
first is remarkable for what its champions call " set-
downs," that is to say, good solid meals three times
a day— or oftener. The second consists almost en-
tirely of "hand-outs " or "poke-outs," which are nothing
but bundles of cold food handed out at the back door.
Every man on the road takes sides, one way or
the other, in regard to these two systems of feeding,
and his standing in the brotherhood is regulated by
his choice. If he joins the set-downers he is consid-
ered at least a true hobo, and although he may have
enemies, they will not dare to speak ill of his gift for
begging. If, on the other hand, he contents himself
with hand- outs, he not only loses all prestige among
the genuine hoboes, but is continually in danger of
tumbling down into the very lowest grades of tramp
life. There is no middle course for him to follow.

II

Success in vagabondage depends largely on distinct
and indispensable traits of character— diligence, pa-
tience, nerve, and politeness. If a tramp lacks any
one of these qualities he is handicapped, and his chosen
life will go hard with him. He needs diligence in
order to keep his winnings up to a certain standard ;
he needs patience to help him through districts where
charity is below par; he needs nerve to give him
reputation among his cronies, and he needs politeness

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 139

to win his way with strangers and to draw their sym-
pathy and help. If he possesses these characteristics,
no matter what his nationality may be, he will suc-
ceed. If not, he would better work than tramp— he
will find it much easier and twice as profitable. The
poke-out beggar is deficient in every one of these
qualities, and his winnings demonstrate it.

I made his acquaintance first about ten years ago.
I had just begun my life on the road, and as I knew
but very little about tramping and nothing about
begging, it was only natural that I should fall in with
him, for he is the first person one meets in the vagabond
world. The successful beggars do not show them-
selves immediately, and the newcomer must first give
some valid evidence of his right to live among them
before they take him in— a custom, by the way, which
shows that tramping is much like other professions.
But the poke-out tramp is not so fastidious ; he
chums with any one he can, successful or not ; and as
I had to associate with somebody, I began with him.
After a while I was graduated out of his rank, and
received into the set-down class, but only after a
hard and severe training, which I would not go
through again— even for the sake of Sociology.

m

As a rule, the poke-out beggar has but one meal
a day, usually breakfast. This is the main meal
with all vagabonds, and even the lazy tramp makes
frantic efforts to find it. Its quantity as well as its
quality depends largely on the kind of house he visits.

140 Tramping with Tramps

His usual breakfast, if he is lucky, consists of coffee,
a little meat, some potatoes, and ''punk 'n' plaster"
(bread and butter). Coffee, more than anything else,
is what every hobo wants early in the morning.
After sleeping out of doors or in a box-car, especially
during the colder months, a man is stiff and chilled,
and coffee is the thing to revive him when he cannot
get whisky, which is by no means the easiest thing to
beg. I have known tramps to drink over six cups of
coffee before they looked for anything solid, and I
myself have often needed three before I could eat
at all.

The dinner of the lazy beggar is a very slim affair.
It is either a free lunch in a saloon, or a hand-out.
This latter consists mainly of sandwiches, but now
and then a cold potato will be put into the bundle,
and also, occasionally, a piece of pie. After the tramp
has had one or two of these impromptu lunches he
persuades himself that he has had enough, and goes off
for a rest. How often— but on account of bashful-
ness, rather than anything else— have I done the same
thing ! And what poor dinners they were ! They no
more satisfy a tramp's appetite than they would a
lion's, but the indolent fellow tries to persuade himself
otherwise. I once overheard a typical member of the
class discussing the matter with himself, or rather
with his appetite, which, for the sake of argument and
companionship, he looked upon as a personality quite
apart. He had just finished a slim and slender hand-
out, had tossed into the bushes the paper bag that
held it together, and, when I saw him, was looking up
into the sky in a most confidential manner. Soon,

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 141

and as if sorry he could not be kinder to it, he cast
his eyes pityingly on his paunch, and said in a sad
tone:

" Poor devil ! I feel fer y'u— bet cher life I do !
But yer 'U have to stand it, I guess. It 's the only
way I know fer y'u to git along." Then he patted it
gently, and repeated again his sympathetic ^'poor
devil." But not once did he scold himself for his
laziness. Not he ! He never does.

His supper is very similar to his dinner, except that
he tries now and then to wash it down with a cup of
tea or coffee. Later in the evening he also indulges in
another hand-out, unless he is on a freight-train or
far from the abodes of men.

Such is the diet of the lazy tramp, and, strange to
relate, despite its unwholesomeness and its meager-
ness, he is a comparatively healthy fellow, as are
almost all tramps. Their endurance, especially that
of the poke-out tramps, is something remarkable.
I have known them to live on ^' wind-puddin'," as
they call air, for over forty-eight hours without be-
coming exhausted, and there are cases on record
where they have gone for four and five days without
anything to eat or drink, and have lived to tell the
tale. A man with whom I once traveled in Pennsyl-
vania did this very thing. He was locked into a
box-car which was shunted off on an unused side-
track a long distance from any house or place where
his cries could be heard. He was in the car for nearly
one hundred and twenty hours, and although almost
dead when found, he picked up in a few days, and
before long was on the road again. I saw him at the

142 Tramping with Tramps

World's Fair at Chicago, and he was just as healthy
and happy in his own way as ever.

In some of the sparsely settled districts in Texas
tramps have suffered most appalling deaths by such
accidents, but so long as a beggar keeps his freedom
I do not believe that even a lazy one starves to death
in this country. I know very well that people do
not realize this, and that they feed tramps regularly,
laboring under the delusion that it is only humane
so to do.

But although the tramp hates honest labor, he hates
starvation still more, and if he finds it impossible
to pick up anything to eat, he will either go to jail
or work. He loves this world altogether too much
to voluntarily explore another of which he knows so
little.

rv

The clothes of the poke-out beggar are not much,
if any, better than his food. In summer he seldom
has more than a shirt, a pair of trousers, a coat, some
old shoes, and a battered hat. Even in winter he
wears little more, especially if he goes South. I have
never seen him with underclothes or socks, and an
overcoat is something he almost never gets hold of,
unless he steals one, which is by no means common.
While I lived with him I wore just such "■ togs." I
shall never forget my first tramp suit of clothes.
The coat was patched in a dozen places, and was nearly
three sizes too large for me ; the waistcoat was torn
in the back, and had but two buttons ; the trousers
were out at the knees, and had to be turned up in

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 143

London fashion at the bottom to keep me from trip-
ping ] the hat was an old derby with the crown dented
in numerous places; and the only decent thing I
had was a flannel shirt. I purchased this rig of a
Jew, and thought it would be just the thing for the
road, and so it was, but only for the poke-out
tramp's road. The hoboes laughed at me and called
me " hoodoo," and I never got in with them in any
such garb. Nevertheless, I wore it for nearly two
months, and so long as I associated with lazy beggars
only, it was all right. Many of them were never
dressed so well, and not a few envied me my old coat.

It is by no means uncommon to see a poke-out
vagabond wearing a garment which belongs to a
woman's wardrobe. He is so indifferent that he will
wear anything that will shield his nakedness, and I
have known him to be so lazy that he did not even
do that.

One old fellow I remember particularly. He had
lost his shirt somehow, and for almost a' week went
about with only a coat between his body and the
world at large. Some of his pals, although they were
of his own class, told him that he ought to find another
shirt, and the more he delayed it the more they labored
with him. One night they were all gathered at a hang-
out near Lima, Ohio, and the old fellow was told that
unless he found a shirt that night they would take away
his coat also. He begged and begged, but they were
determined, and as he did not show any intention of
doing as he was bidden, they carried out the threat.
And all that night and the following day he was actu-
ally so lazy and stubborn that he would not yield, and

144 Tramping with Tramps

would probably be there still, in some form or other,
had his pals not relented and returned him the coat.
As I said, he went for nearly a week without finding
a shirt, and not once did he show the least shame or
embarrassment.

Not long after this experience he got into limbo,
and had to wear the famous ^^ zebra "—the peni-
tentiary dress. It is not popular among tramps, and
they seldom wear it, but that old rascal, in spite of
the disgrace and inconvenience that his confinement
brought upon him, was probably pleased that he did
not have to find his own clothes.

Such are the poke-out tramps of every country
where I have studied them, and such they will always
be. They are constitutionally incapacitated for any
successful career in vagabondage, and the wonder is
that they live at all. Properly speaking, they have no
connection with the real brotherhood, and I should not
have referred to them here, except that the pubhc
mistakes them for the genuine hoboes. They are not
hoboes, and nothing angers the latter so much as to
be classed with them.

The hobo is exceedingly proud in his way,—
a person of susceptibilities,— and if you want to
offend him, call him a "gay-cat" or a " poke-outer.'^
He will never forgive you.

Almost the first advice given me after I had managed
to scramble into the set-down class came from an
old vagabond known among his cronies as " Portland
Shorty." He knew that I had been but a short time on

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 145

the road, and that in many respects I had not met
with the success which was necessary to entitle me to
respect among men of his class, but nevertheless he
was willing to give me a few pointers, which, by the
way, all hoboes are glad to do, if they feel that the
recipient will turn them to profit.

I met Shorty for the first time in Chicago, and while
we were lounging on the grass in the Lake Front
Park, the following conversation took place :

"Cigarette," he began,— for I had already received
my tramp name,— "how long V y'u been on the
road?"

I replied : " About two months."

" Wall, how long d' y'u 'spect to stay there ? "

" Oh, 's long 's I 'm happy."

" Ez long ez yer happy, eh ? Wall, then, I 'm goin'
to chew the rag wid y'u fer a little while. Now, 'f
yer wants to be happy, here 's a little advice fer y'u.
In the first place, make up yer mind jes wha' cher
goin' to be. Ef y'u 'spect to work fer yer livin', why,
get oif the road. Moochin' spiles workin' jes ez
workin' spiles moochin'. The two don't go together
nohow. So 'f yer goin' to be a bum fer life, never
think o' work. Jes give yerself entirely to yer own
speshul callin', fer 'f y'u don't yer '11 regret it. 'N the
second place, y'u wan' to decide what kind o' beggar
yer goin' to make. Ef yer a thief, 'n' playin' the beg-
gar jes as a guy, why, then y'u knows yer bizness bet-
ter 'n I do. But ef y'u ain't, 'n' are jes browsin' round
lookin' fer a berth, then I wants to tell yer somethin'.
There 's diff'rent kinds o' beggars ; some gits there, 'n'
some does n't. Them what gits there I call arteests,

146 Tramping with Tramps

'n' them what does n't I call ban'crupts. Now, wha*
cher goin' to be, arteest or ban'crupt ? "

I replied that I was still undecided, since I had not
yet learned whether I could make a success on the
road or not, but added that my inclination would be
toward the "arteest" class.

'^ That 's right," he began afresh. '' Be an arteest
or nothin'. Beggin' 's a great bizness 'f yer cut out
fer it, 'cause y'u 've got everythin' to win 'n' nothin'
to lose. Not many callin's has them good points—
see ? Now, 'f yer goin' to be an arteest, y'u wants to
make up yer mind to one thing, 'n' that is — hard
work. Some people thinks that moochin' is easy, but
lemme tell yer 't ain't. Batterin', when it 's done well,
is the difficultest job under the moon— take my tip
fer that. Y'u got to work hard all yer life to make
boodle, 'n' 'f y'u wan' to save it, y'u mus' n't booze.
Drinkin' 's what spiles bums. If they c'u'd leave it
alone they 'd be somethin'. Now, Cig, that 's good
sound talk, 'n' you 'd better hang on to it."

I did, and it helped me as much as anything else in
getting in with the real hoboes. I have known them,
now, for ten years, and feel abundantly qualified to
describe their diet and dress.

VI

In the first place, they eat three good warm meals
every day— breakfast from seven to eight o'clock, din-
ner at twelve, and supper at six. These are the set-
downs^ in tramp life, and it is the duty of every

1 In Germany and England the tramps usually eat their set-
downs in cheap restaurants or at lodging-houses. They beg

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 147

professional to find them regularly. The breakfast
is very similar to the poke-out tramp's breakfast,
the main additions being oatmeal and pancakes, if the
beggar is willing to look for them. They can be found
with a little perseverance. There are also some hoboes
who want pie for breakfast, and they have it almost
constantly. I once traveled with a Maine tramp who
simply would not consider his breakfast complete
until he had had his usual piece of apple-pie. And he
a^^tually had the nerve to go to houses and ask for
that alone. During our companionship, which lasted
over a week, he failed but once to get it, and then it
was because he had to make a train.

The dinner is a more elaborate affair, and the tramp
must often visit a number of houses before he finds
the various dishes he desires. I remember well a hunt
I had for a dinner in St. Louis. A Western tramp
was my comrade at the time, and we had both decided
upon our bill of fare. He wanted meat and potatoes,
'' punk 'n' plaster,'' some kind of dessert (pudding pre-
ferred), and three cups of coffee. I wanted the same
things minus the dessert, and I had to visit fifteen
houses before my appetite was satisfied. But, as my
companion said, the point is that I finally got my din-
ner. He too was successful, even to the kind of
pudding he wished.

Not all tramps are so particular as my Western
pal, but they must have the ''substanshuls" (meat
and potatoes and bread and butter) anyhow. Unless
they get them they are angry, and scold eveni;hing

money to pay for them, rather than look for them at private
houses.

t

148 Tramping with Tramps

and everybody. I once knew a vagabond to call down
all sorts of plagues and miseries on a certain house
because he could not get enough potatoes there. He
prayed that it might be cursed with smallpox, all the
fevers that he knew, and every loathsome disease—
and he meant it, too.

There are a number of hoboes who occasionally
take their dinners in the form of what they call the
" made-to-order scoff." It is something they have
invented themselves, and for many reasons is their
happiest meal. It takes place at the hang-out,
and a more appropriate environment could not be
found. When the scoff is on the program, the vaga-
bonds gather together and decide who shall beg the
meat, the potatoes, the onions, the corn, the bread
and butter, the tea and coffee, and the desserts, if they
are procurable. Then each one starts out on his sep-
arate errand, and if all goes well they return before
long and hand their winnings over to the cook. This
official, meanwhile, has collected the fire-wood and the
old tin cans for frying and boiling the food. While
the meal is cooking, the tramps sit around the fire on
the stolen railroad-ties and compare jokes and experi-
ences. Pretty soon dinner is announced, and they
begin. They have no forks and often no knives, but
that does not matter. '' Fingers were made before
forks." Sometimes they sharpen little sticks and use
them, but fingers are more popular. The table manners
of the Eskimos compare favorably with those of these
picnicking hoboes, and I have often seen a tramp eat
meat in a way that would bring a dusky blush to
the cheek of the primeval Alaskan. It is remarkable.

A WESTERN ROADSTER.

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 151

however, that no matter how carelessly they eat their
food, they seldom have dyspepsia. I have known
only a few cases, and even then the sufferers were
easily cured.

Supper is seldom much of a meal among hoboes,
and mainly because it has to be looked for, during the
greater part of the year, just about dark, the time
when the hobo is either preparing his night's hang-
out, or making arrangements for his night's journey,
and the hunt for supper often occasions unpleasant
delays. But he nevertheless looks for it if he can
possibly spare the time. He considers it his bounden
duty to eat regularly, and feels ashamed if he neglects
to do it. I have heard him scold himself for an hour
just because he failed to get a meal at the proper
time, although he really did not care for it. Bohe-
mian that he is, he still respects times and seasons,
which is the more surprising since in other matters
he is as reckless as a fool. In quarrels, for example,
he regards neither sense nor custom, and has his own
private point of view every time. But at the very
moment that he is planning some senseless and useless
fight, he will look for a meal as conscientiously as the
laborer works for one, although he may not need it.

For supper he usually has about what other people
have— potatoes (usually fried) and beefsteak, tea or
coffee, bread and butter, and some kind of sauce. For
three months of my time on the road I had almost
exactly this bill of fare, and became so accustomed to
it that I was considerably surprised if I found any-
thing else. I mention these various items to show
how closely the tramp's '•'■ hot diet " resembles that of

1^2 Tramping with Tramps

most people. A great mistake is made in thinking
that these men, as a class, have to eat things both
uncommon and peculiar. Some of them do, but all of
the set-downers eat about the same things that the
respectable and worthy portion of the community-
eats.

In Pennsylvania, the " f attenin'-up State," ^ or
^^ P. A.," as the hobo calls it, apple-butter is his chief
delicacy. I have seen him put it on his bread, meat,
and potatoes, and one beggar that I knew wanted it
" raw." I happened to be with this man one afternoon
in the town of Bethlehem, and while we were sitting
on a little bridge crossing the canal on the outskirts
of the town, a Pennsylvania Dutchman hove in sight.
My pal, being a beggar who liked to improve every
opportunity, immediately said to me, in a professional
sort of voice :

" Keep quiet, Cig, ^n' I '11 tackle 'im."

The man soon passed us, and the beggar followed.
He caught up with him in a moment, and as I had
also followed, I managed to overhear a part of the
conversation. It was something like this :

" I say, boss, can' cher gimme the price of a meal? "

^' Nein ; dat kan ich nit."

^' Well, can you take me home 'n' feed me?"

"Nein."

1 It is most interesting to talk with Eastern tramps in the
West who are homeward bound. If they have been in the West
long, and look rather "seedy," and you ask them where they are
going to in the East, they invariably reply : "Gosh! P. A., o'
course. We wants to fatten up, we does." And there is no
better place for this than Pennsylvania.

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 153

" Well, say ; can' cher gimme a cigar ? "

"Nein"— in anger.

" Well, say,"— and he put his arm affectionately on
the Dutchman's shoulder,— "let 's go 'n' have a drink.
Eh?"

"Nein."

"Well, you old hoosier, you, can you gimme some
apple-butter ? "

Even the Dutchman laughed, but he said, " Nein."

Besides the three meals which every hobo has regu-
larly, there are also two or three lunches a day, which
are included in the hot diet, although they practi-
cally belong to the cold one. The first is taken in the
morning about ten o'clock, and is begged at break-
fast-time, the second about three or four o'clock, and
the third late in the evening. Not all hoboes eat these
between-meal " snacks," but the majority beg them at
any rate, and if they do not need them they either
throw them away or give them to some deserving per-
son, often enough a seeker of work. For although the
tramp hates labor, he does not hate the true laborer,
and if he can help him along, lie does it willingly.
He knows only too well that it is mainly the laboring-
man off whom he lives, and that it is well to do him
a good turn whenever it is possible. Then, too, the
hobo is a generous fellow, no matter what else he is,
and is alwaj^s willing to share his winnings with any
one he really likes. With the gay-cat and the poke-
outer he will have nothing to do, but with the criminal,
his own pals, and the working-man he is always on
good terms, unless they repel his overtures.

As a number of tramps spend considerable time in

154 Tramping with Tramps

jails, it seems appropriate to tell what they eat there,
also. Their life in limbo is often voluntary, for al-
though a great many hoboes go South every winter,
there are others who prefer a jail in the North, and
so whatever hardship they encounter is mainly of
their own choosing. And since some of them do
choose jail fare, it is evident that those particular beg-
gars find it less disagreeable than winter life ^^ out-
side," either North or South. The usual food in these
places is bread, molasses, and coffee in the morning,
some sort of thick soup or meat and potatoes with
bread for dinner, and bread and molasses and tea for
supper. There is generally enough, also, and although
I have often heard the tramps grumble, it was mainly
because they had nothing else to do. Confinement in
county prisons, although it has its diversions, tends
to make a man captious and irritable, and the tramp
is no exception to this. Occasionally he gets into a
jail where only two meals a day are given, and he
must then exercise his fortitude. He never intends to
be in such a place, but mistakes will happen even in
vagabondage, and it is most interesting to see how the
tramp gets out of them or endures them. He usually
grits his teeth and promises ^' never to do it again " ;
and, considering his self-indulgent nature, I think he
stands suffering remarkably well.

YIl

What the hot-diet tramp wears is another matter,
but a not vastly different one. His ambition, although
he does not always achieve it, is to have new togs

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 155

quite as regularly as the man who buys them with
liard cash. He also tries to keep up with the fashions
and the seasons as closely as possible.

But all this must naturally be regulated by the
charity of the community in which he happens to be.
If he is near a college, and knows how to beg of the
students, he can usually find just what and about all
he needs; but if he is in a country district where
clothes are worn down to the thread, he is in a hard
case. As a rule, however, he dresses nearly as well
as the day-laborer, and sometimes far better. There
are tramps of this type in New York and Chicago
whose dress is almost identical with that of the ma-
jority of the men one meets in the streets, and to dis-
tinguish them from the crowd requires an eye able to
read their faces rather than their coats. Such men
never allow their clothes to wear beyond a certain
point before begging a fresh supply. And if they are
careful, and do not ride in freight-trains often, a suit
will last them several months, for they understand
remarkably well how to take care of it. Every tramp
of this order and grade carries a brush inside of his
coat pocket, and uses it on the slightest provocation.
On the road I also acquired this habit of brushing my
clothes as often as they showed the slightest soil. It
is a trick of the trade, and saves not only the clothes,
but the self-respect of the brotherhood.

Dark clothes are the most popular, because they
keep clean, or at least appear clean, for a longer time.
I once wore a suit of this kind for nearly three
months, and although I used it rather roughly, it was
so good at the end of that time that I traded it to a

156 Tramping with Tramps

tramp for a coat and vest almost new. The way to
make sure of having a serviceable suit is to gather
together several coats, vests, and trousers, and pick
out a complement from the best and most suitable of
the lot.

I shall not forget an experience of this sort I had
in a Western town. I had worked all day with my
companion looking simply for clothes, and at night
we had six coats, eight vests, four pairs of trousers,
and two overcoats. Out of this collection we chose
two fairly good suits, but the rest were so poor that
we had to throw them away. One of the coats was a
clergyman's, and when he gave it to me he said : " It
may not fit you very well, but you can use it as an
overcoat, perhaps." It was even then too large for
me, and I gave it to the tramp, who wore it for nearly
a month. His pals laughed at him and called liim
'' Parson Jim " ; but he made more money with that
coat than he could possibly have made in any other.
He posed as a theological student among the farm-
ers, and was most royally entertained. But his luck
gave out in a short time, for he went to prison in his
clerical habit not long after.

Hoboes take most delight in what is called the sack-
coat. ^'Tailed jackets" are inconvenient, especially
when one is riding on the trucks of a train ; the skirts
are liable to catch on something and thus delay mat-
ters. It is the inside of a tramp s coat, however, that is
most interesting. It is usually furnished with numer-
ous pockets, one of them being called the ''poke-out
pocket," in which he stows away his lunches. The
others are used for brushes, tattooing-tools, combs,

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 159

white rags, string, and other little notions that may
'^come handy" to a traveler. But in none of the
pockets will there ever be found one bit of paper
which might identify the bearer or implicate him in
any suspicious work. He is too " foxy " to ever allow
his real name to crop out in any telltale evidence on
his person, except, perhaps, when he may have been
foolish enough to have it tattooed somewhere on his
body.

He is proudest of his hat and shoes, and with rea-
son. The former is usually a soft black felt, but stiff
hats are also ci la mode, and I have even seen a '' stove-
pipe " on the road. It was unique, however, and the
owner did a good business with it ; his '' clients " used
to feed him simply on account of his oddity. The foot-
gear consists generally of laced shoes, but boots have
to be accepted now and then. Socks, although much
in vogue, often yield to white-linen rags wound
smoothly around the feet. This is particularly true
among the tramps of Germany. They take long
walks, and contend that socks chafe the feet too much.
There is truth in this, and while I lived with them I
followed their custom to the extent of wearing the
rags next to my feet and then drawing the socks over
them. And I was very little troubled with sore feet
while I did so ; but for the one week when I tried to
go without the rags I suffered considerably.

Overcoats are worn by the hoboes who go South in
winter, but tramps who spend the cold months in jail
do not need them, and if they beg any, usually sell
them. Underclothes in some form or other are worn
all the time, not so much for warmth as for cleanU-

i6o Tramping with Tramps

ness. Even the cleanest hoboes cannot keep entirely
free of vermin, and they wear underclothes to pro-
tect their outer garments, changing the former as
often as they can, and throwing away or burning the
discarded pieces. The tramp's shirt is always of
flannel, if he can find it, and very often he wears two,
either for the sake of trade or to keep warm. Other
garments are doubled also, and one finds men wearing
two coats, two vests, and two pairs of trousers. It is
by no means uncommon to see a tramp who wears
linen and cotton shirts with two or three layers on
his back. As one becomes soiled he throws it away,
and so on till the three are discarded.

There is one more indispensable article of a tramp's
toilet, and it is called the '^ shaver." This is a razor
incased in a little sack, generally leather, which he
hangs around his neck with a string. It is used for
fighting and shaving, and is very good as a " guy " for
getting him into jail. I saw how this was done one
day in western Pennsylvania. The time was late Octo-
ber, and three tramps who came into town decided that
the local jail would be a good place in which to spend
the winter. They wanted a ninety-day sentence, and
knew they could not get it for simple drunkenness ;
so they decided to pretend drunk and make a row in
order to be sentenced on two charges. They began
their brawl in the main street, and flourished their
razors in good style. The officers arrested them after
a little fight made for appearance' sake, and the judge
gave them four months— thirty days more than they
expected. Their razors were confiscated, too, but they
got others the minute they were released. It some-

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 161

times happens, however, that the shavers are not dis-
covered, because the men are riot properly searched,
and, owing to this lack of careful inspection by offi-
cials, rows in jails have often ended seriously.

vni

A FRIEND at my elbow, to whom vagabondage is a
terra incognita^ remarks just at this juncture: ''You
ought to tell just how the tramp gets his three set-
down meals a day."

I can scarcely believe that in our own country there
is any ignorance in regard to this matter. The house
in the settled districts that has not been visited by
the tramp in search of one of his three meals seems
to me not to exist. But if anybody needs enlighten-
ment on this point, the following incident will be of
interest.

One June day, some years ago, I strolled into the
hang-out in a little town in Michigan just as the bells
were ringing for dinner. I was a stranger in the place,
and as I wanted to find my dinner as quickly as possi-
ble, in order to make a " freight " that was due about
two o'clock, I asked one of the tramps at the camp
whether he knew of any "mark" (a house where
something is always given to beggars) in the town.

'' Well, there ain't many," he replied. '' Town 's too
small and the people 's too relijus. The best is that
big college building up there on the hill, but they ain't
always willin' even there. They go by fits. "If they 's
in the mood, they feeds you, 'n' 'f they ain't, they sicks
the dog on you -, an' it takes a pretty foxy bloke to

i62 Tramping with Tramps

know what moods they is in. I struck 'em onc't when
I felt dead sure they was in the k'rect one, 'n', by the
hoky-poky, I had to look fer a new coat 'for' I left
the town— blasted mean dog they got there. But
there 's another place not far from the old red
buildin' where any bloke kin scoff if he gives the
right song 'n' dance. It 's No. 13 Grove Street.
Great ole squaw lives there— feeds everybody she
kin; sort o' bughouse [crazy] on the subject, you
know— likes to talk 'bout her Sammy, 'n' all that sort
o' stuff. Dead cinch, she is. Better hit her up 'n'
take a feed. Yer bound to get a good ole set-down."

I followed his advice, and was soon at the back door
of No. 1 3 Grove Street. In answer to my knock there
appeared a motherly-looking old lady who wanted to
know what she could do for me. What a tale I told
her ! And how kind she looked as I related my sad
experiences as a young fellow trying to work his way
to a distant town, where he hoped to find friends who
would help him into college !

" Come right in ; we are just at table." Then she
called to her daughter Dorothy, a pretty lass, and told
her to lay a plate for a stranger. She and the girl
were the only persons in the house, and I was sur-
prised that they took me in so willingly. Women,
as a rule, are afraid of tramps, and prefer to feed them
on the back steps. But I had evidently found an
exception, for when I had washed my hands and face
and combed my hair on the little porch, I was in-
vited into the cozy dining-room and offered a place
beside the hostess. How odd it seemed! I almost
felt at home, and had to be on my guard to keep up

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 163

my role as a vagabond. For it was certainly a
temptation to relieve myself then and there, and have
an old-time chat on respectable lines. I had been so
long on the road that I was really in need of some
such comfort, but I dared not take advantage of it.
So I answered their questions about my home, my
parents, and my plans as professionally as I could,
and spun my story, not entirely of fiction, however,
and they smiled or looked solemn as the occasion
fitted. They seemed to take a great interest in my
doings, and always had a word of sympathy or advice
for predicaments which I fabricated. And how they
fed me ! My plate was not once empty, and I ate and
ate simply out of respect to their politeness. When I
had finished they both asked me to rest awhile before
taking up my journey again ; so I sat in their inter-
esting little sitting-room, and listened to their talk,
and answered their questions. Pretty soon, and evi-
dently thinking that it would help me to know about
him, the mother began to tell me of a lad of hers whom
she had not seen for several years, and as she fancied
that he might possibly have traveled my way, she
asked if I had met him. I wanted to tell her that
I had, if only to give her a mite of comfort, but I
knew that it would be more cruel than the truth, and
I said " I was afraid we had not met." Then she spoke
of certain features of face that we had in common,
and asked the girl if she did not think so.

"Yes," Dorothy replied, "he reminds me of Sam-
just about the same build, too."

I could not stand this, and told them I must be on
my way. As I was leaving, the old lady asked me not

164 Tramping with Tramps

to be offended if she gave me a little book. '^Of
course not," I replied, and she fetched me a conven-
tional little tract about a prodigal son. I thanked her,
and then she advised me to visit a certain lawyer in
the town, who, she said, was in need of a helper, and
there I might find a chance for an education with-
out looking farther. And as if to prove my right to
such employment, while standing on the porch at her
side, she laid her motherly hand on my head, and said
to Dorothy, with a smile on her kindly face :

''The lad has an intelligent head— something like
Sam's. Don't you think so ? "

Both looked sadly and solemnly in earnest, and I
stole away, hoping never to see them again until
I should know where their Sam might be found. I
have looked for him on many a road since that June
day, alw^ays with the determination that no other
" wandering boy " should hear from me of this kind
mother's hospitality, and I hope they have him now,
for they certainly deserve surcease of sorrow on his
account.

There are people like this in every town, and it is
the tramp's talent to find them, and "when found
make a note on." He thus becomes a peripatetic
directory for the tramp world, which lives on the
working world at a cost which it is worth while to
consider.

IX

That tramps are expensive no one will deny, but how
much so it is difficult to decide. I have tried to show
that a large number of them eat and wear things

What the Tramp Eats and Wears 165

which certainly cost somebody considerable money,
but a careful census of the vagabond population alone
can estimate the amount. No one can tell exactly
what this tramp population numbers, but I think it
safe to say that there are not less than sixty thousand
in this country. Every man of this number, as a
rule, eats something twice a day, and the majority eat
three good meals. They all wear some sort of cloth-
ing, and most of them rather respectable clothing.
They all drink liquor, probably each one a glass of
whisky a day. They all get into jail, and eat and
drink there just as much at the expense of the com-
munity as elsewhere. They all chew and smoke to-
bacco, and all of them spend some of their time in
lodging-houses. How much all this represents in
money I cannot tell, but I believe that the expenses
I have enumerated, together with the costs of convic-
tion for vagrancy, drunkenness, and crime, will easily
mount up into the millions. And all that the country
can show for this expenditure is an idle, homeless, and
useless class of individuals called tramps.

PART II
TRAVELS

PART II

TRAVELS

I. Life among German Tramps
II. With the Russian Goriouns

III. Two Tramps in England .

IV. The Tramp at Home .

V. The Tramp and the Eailroads

PAOE

169

200

. 229

. 267

. 291

PART II — TRAVELS
I

LIFE AMONG GERMAN TRAMPS

WILLIAM II of Germany is the ruler of about
fifty millions of people. A smaU fraction
comprises the nobility, while the great majority are
commoners, and the rest, about one hundred thousand,
are roving beggars. His Imperial Majesty is prob-
ably weU acquainted with his nobles, and he thinks
that he understands the commoners, but the tramp
who passes his castle now and then is a foreigner at
home. Yet he is found in every city, town, and vil-
lage, and there is hardly a home in the empire which
he has not visited. He tramps the public highways
as freely and fearlessly as the laborer, and rides on the
royal railways as boldly as a king. His business in
life is to prey upon the credulity of the charitable, and
to steal when the eye of the law is not on watch. In
spite, however, of all this publicity, comparatively
little is known of his real life and character. Various
books and pamphlets have been written about him,
but they have usually been grounded on second-hand
information, as I have looked in vain for any account
of a personal study of tramp life.

169

lyo Tramping with Tramps

Being desirous of knowing the real facts in the case,
I at first supplemented my reading by various conver-
sations with beggars as they lounged around near my
home in Berlin, and occasionally invited some of the
more intelligent into my study, and plied them as
cleverly as possible with all sorts of questions. But
they invariably fooled me, and told the most romantic
of tales, believing, probably, that they were what I
wanted. Time after time I have said to them, " Oh,
come now, give over this story-telling, and let me have
something that is really true." But they seemed un-
able to comprehend my purposes, and, true to their
national traits, it was not in them to take part in any
scheme which they could not understand. How to
get at what I desired was the question. I called at
the Bureau of Statistics, hoping surely to find here
carefully tabulated statistics of vagrancy j but I was
disappointed.

Dr. Berthold,^ who kindly told me all he knew, said
that Pastor von Bodelschwingh was the man who had
made the best census of trampdom, and he had claimed
that there were 200,000 arrests in Germany each year
for begging; that 100,000 of them represented irre-
claimable vagabonds, 80,000 bona-fide seekers of work,
and the remaining 20,000 the maximum number of
reclaimable beggars. Dr. Berthold continued : " The
only way to know the entire truth about the tramp is
to live with him. I had the intention to do this my-
self, but I delayed it too long, and now I am too old."
He was very kind and gave me some valuable hints,

1 Dr. Berthold is a well-known statistician, writer, and au-
thority on matters pertaining to German labor colonies.

Life among German Tramps 171

but admitted that nothing very definite was known
about the wandering beggar.

I finally decided to give up these fruitless investi-
gations, and to become a tramp myself in order to
achieve my ends. I felt fairly equipped for such an
undertaking, having had a two years' residence in
Germany, and having also played the tramp in my
own country. My plan, however, was not to study
the enforced vagrant, but rather the man who wanders
because he desires to, and prefers begging to working.
And in that which follows I have attempted to de-
scribe my experiences with voluntary beggars only.

Early in April I made ready for the journey. My
outfit was a close copy of the fashions in trampdom,
my clothes being both old and easy to bear. I took no
pass with me, because, in the first place, I could not
get a German pass, and, secondly, I was anxious to
find out just what experiences an unidentified man
must go through. If I were to repeat the experiment
I should do differently. Having decided to begin my
investigations in Magdeburg, there being various
reasons why I should not play the beggar in Berlin,
I left my home on the date mentioned, and hurried
through the streets to the railroad-station, where I in-
vested a few groschen in a fourth-class ticket. My
first afternoon was consequently spent in what very
closely resembles the common American freight-car,
except that it is windowed and occasionally has planks
braced against the sides to serve as seats. The floor,
however, or a piece of baggage, is the more customary
resting-place. A ride in this miserable box costs two
pfennigs the kilometer, and the passengers are natu-

172 Tramping with Tramps

rally of the lower order of travelers, including the
tramps, who make almost as much use of fourth-class
privileges as our own vagrants do of the freight-trains.
My companions on the first trip were a queer lot.
In one end of the car was a band playing the vilest
music for the few sechser (five-pfennig pieces) occa-
sionally thrown down to them. Their only rival was
a little tambourine girl, who danced and rattled her
noisy instrument as if her life depended upon her
agility, as no doubt it did. The other travelers were
market-women, laborers, and journeymen, and a fel-
low called Peasant Carl, who was more of a tramp
than anything else, in spite of the fact that he had a
trade. We were soon talking on various subjects, and
it was not difficult to lead the conversation to the sub-
ject of tramp life. Carl was considerably surprised
to find that an American should be auf der Walze
(on the road), and needed some proof ere he was con-
vinced that I was a roadster. My old clothes and
general forlorn condition were not sufficient, and I
was compelled to tell him a story. Once satisfied on
this point, he turned out to be a good friend, and
among other valuable facts that he generously gave
me were scraps from the German tramp vocabulary,
which h-e said might "come handy," since I was a
stranger. I found that Kimde, or customer, was the
general word for vagrant, but as the term vaguely
covers the thousands of traveling journej^men in the
community also, another term has been invented for
the genuine tramp, none other than Chausseegraben-
tapezirer, or upholsterer of the highway ditches. What
could be more genuinely, deliciously German ?

Life among German Tramps 175

As this dialect is rather unique, and as different
from the German language proper as black from
white, I am tempted to give a few more words, tabu-
lating them, for comparison's sake, alongside their
American equivalents :

German American

Tramp Tramp

English. German. Dialect. Dialect.

Bread Das Brod Der Kramp .... Punk.

Water Das Wasser Der Gansewein

To beg Betteln Abklappen To Batter.

To walk Laufen Tibbeln To Drill.

Policeman Der Schutzmann Der Putz The Bull.

Gendarmes .... Gendarmes Der Deckel ....

Village Das Dorf Der Kaff Jerktown.

Whisky-flask . . . Die Schnappsflasche Die Finne The Grow-
ler.
Passport Der Reise-Pass Die Flebbe

Hunger Der Hunger Der Kohldampf .

This vocabulary will give a fair idea of the dialect.
It is much more complete than the American, afford-
ing, as it does, ample means whereby entire secrecy
can be secured in public places. It is spoken by both
Handiver'ksburschen and tramps, and it is my opinion
that the former were not the originators, as is some-
times averred, but have rather acquired a fair know-
ledge of it by associating j^-ear after year, on the road,
with beggars.

On my arrival in Magdeburg, my friend Carl sug-
gested that we go to Die Herberge zur Heimath, a
lodging-house somewhat above the common grade,
where we could at least have our supper, but where
I could not lodge, having no pass. This institution

176 Tramping with Tramps

must be distinguished from the ordinary Herberge, or
low-class lodging-house, and has a history worth more
than a passing paragraph. It is a sort of refined edi-
tion of the Salvation Army ^'shelter/' and was founded
on religious and humanitarian principles by Professor
Perthes of Bonn, whose first enterprise of the kind
at Bonn has been so widely copied that at least three
hundred towns of Germany now furnish this comfort-
able and respectable refuge to the traveling apprentice
or journeyman, and, if he will conform to its usages
and requirements, to the tramp also.

Entering the main room of the Heimath, I was sur-
prised to see Carl rap on a table and the men sitting
at the same to follow suit. I found out later that this
meant '^ Hello," and that the after knock indicated
"All right." Shaking hands is also a customary
greeting in German trampdom, but hardly ever in
American vagrancy. Tramps also call one another
" brother," and use the pronoun " thou " invariably in
preference to ''you." The inmates of the Heimath, I
soon found, were drawn from three classes. First,
the apprentice making his first journey, and usually
a very stupid fellow. The tramp was here also, but
only, I think, to prey upon the Handwerksbursche, for
no whisky is sold on the premises, and prayers are
held morning and evening, a custom which all true
roadsters despise. The rest were men fairly well on
in life, who work occasionally and beg the remainder
of the time. I counted altogether sixteen recognized
beggars (Chausseegrabentapezirer), but made no
attempt to make their acquaintance, having decided
not to study them in foreign quarters, but to seek

Life among German Tramps 177

them in their real homes. For Die Herberge zur
Heimath is not a tramps' nest, although some Germans
think so, and as soon as I had had a fair supper, for
which I paid three cents, I left with Carl for another
domicile. We were not long in finding the Herberge
proper, or perhaps improper, where life is seen in all
its dirtiest phases. Entering the common meeting-
room, and saluting as usual, we sat down at a table
where there were other tramps also. I was immedi-
ately asked: '^Wo kommst Du her? Wo willst Du
hin ? Was hast Du f iir Geschaf t ? " I answered these
questions as cleverly as I could, and was soon deep
in various conversations. Before I had been talking
long, I made the acquaintance of a beggar belonging
to the class called Kommando-ScMeber. These fel-
lows beg usually within very small districts, and know
every house that is ^^ good " for a meal or a pfennig.
My newly made friend was kind enough to instruct
both Carl and me in regard to Magdeburg.

''This town is rather heiss [unfriendly]," said he,
" but if you look out and beg very carefully you can
get along. A great trick here now is to tip the Por-
tier of good houses, and thus get the pull on every flat
in the building. You Ve got to look out for the PufZj
though, for if you 're caught, you 're sure for twenty-
four hours in the Kasten [prison]. Another scheme
that works pretty well with us fellows who know the
town is to send around begging letters. You can
easily make quite a Stoss [haul] if you work the plan
well. Still, it 's risky for strangers. If you 're going
to stay here long, you 'd better make friends with the
Herbergsvater. He 's a pretty good Kerl [fellow], and

lyS Tramping with Tramps

if you let him know that you 've got a little money,
he '11 look out for you when the Putz makes his in-
spection now and then. There 's nothing, you know,
like standing in with them that are Mug [clever J, and
you can bet that fellow is. . . . What do you say to
a schnapps, brother f "

He had earned his drink, for he gave me a great
many hints which were necessary to successful beg-
ging. One of them was about getting a pass. '' Now,
if you can scrape a little coin together," he said, '' I '11
tell you how to get a Flebbe that no Putz can find
out whether it 's forged or not. You see that fellow
over there near the window— well, he looks like a fool,
but if you can give him five marks, he '11 get you a
WanderhucJi that '11 pass you anywhere. But don't
go at him too clumsily, you know ; take the matter
easy. Nothing like taking your time, brother, is
there ? " I agreed that this was orthodox tramp doc-
trine, and determined to think the matter over, which
I did, and came to the conclusion that I might eventu-
ally get into more trouble with a false pass than with-
out any. And later experience approved the decision.

My first night in this tramp-nest was one I shall
never forget. I slept with an old beggar in a bed long
since given over to other lodgers, who fought us that
night as if we were Frenchmen. And the stench in
the sleeping-room was similar to that in a pigsty.
Any complaint, however, would have been useless, for
the price paid was only three cents, and for that sum
of money one could not expect very much. Then, too,
the host asked for no Legitimations-Papier, and this
was an advantage which must be set over against

HUJSTING FOK HIS PASS.

Life among German Tramps 181

most of the annoyances. Nevertheless, I was glad
enough to turn out early in the morning and look for
a breakfast, which was soon found, but thoroughly
European in quantity. Carl continued begging even
after his breakfast, while I remained in the lodging-
house talking with some of the inmates. I was sur-
prised to see how fairly well dressed the German
tramp is. The men in the Herberge were clad much
more respectably than their American confrere^ and
seemed to have a desire to appear as decent as possi-
ble. Their intelligence was also very fair, every one
being able to read and write as well as cipher. This,
however, is not so surprising, for they were by no
means young. It is my opinion that the majority of
German tramps are over thirty years of age. There
are some boys on the road, it is true, but by no means
the number found in American trampdom. And I am
happy to say that my experience convinces me that
their treatment by the elder men is much more humane
than in my own country. There is not in the German
that viciousness which seems ingrained in the char-
acter of the American vagrant. The latter is a more
generous fellow, however, than the German, as I
learned by practical experience. When some of the
tramps returned to the Herberge in the afternoon, I
tried their good fellowship by asking several for a
sechser with which to buy a cup of coffee. I offered
my very sore foot as an excuse for not having myself
begged. But they were not touched in the slightest.
One fellow said : " If you can't beg your own money,
why, you 'd better get off the road, for no other
Chausseegrabentapezirer will hustle for you." An

i82 Tramping with Tramps

American beggar would, as a rule, have handed me a
penny, if he had it. But these men sat drinking their
beer, schnapps, and coffee, utterly incapable, at least
then, of a bit of brotherly charity. They had plenty
of money, too. During the day nearly every one had
begged from ninety pfennigs to one mark twenty,
while Carl returned about five o'clock with three
marks in hand.

I think the usual wage for diligent begging is be
tween one mark fifty and four marks, in addition to
the three meals. Of course there are a few who are
much more successful. One fellow at the Herberge,
for instance, who had been in England and could
speak English quite well, claimed that he begged forty
marks in one week during the previous winter from
the Americans in Dresden.

Another vagrant told a story of a man he had met
in South Germany on the road with two hundred
marks in his pocket, which he had collected in two
weeks in Munich. It is a great amusement for the
tramp off duty to figure out the possibilities of his
calling, and to illustrate the same with stories. There
was one beggar in the room who even kept an ac-
count of his mcome and expenses. I saw the record
for March, and found that his gains had been ninety-
three marks and a few pfennigs, not including the
meals which he had had in various kitchens where the
servants were friendly. I must say right here, how-
ever, that such success is found only in cities. For I
sampled the charity of the country time after time,
and it is worth a bare living only, or, as Carl was
wont to say, '^ One can't get fat on it.''

Life among German Tramps 183

We were convinced of this as soon as we had left
Magdeburg and started afoot for Brunswick. Carl
begged in every village that we passed through, but
he could seldom get more than twenty or twenty-five
pfennigs, with numerous slices of bread. I made no
attempt to beg money, but visited several houses and
asked for food, so that my companions might not sus-
pect me. I was fairly well treated, at least quite as
charitably as I would have been in the United States,
and I think that, taking the country as a whole, the
rewards of begging in Germany are much higher than
in either England or America. The people seem bound
to give, although they have had beggars among them
for centuries.

My second night on the road was quite as interest-
ing as the first. I had stopped with Carl and two
other men in a little village not far from Brunswick,
where there was no Herberge, and only one inn, or
Gastliaus, as it was called. We asked the woman in
charge if we could lodge there for the night, but she was
by no means friendly, saying we were unclean. She
told us to go to the barn, where we could sleep for a
groschen apiece. As there was nothing better to do, we
followed her instructions, and spent the night, which
was cold for April, on some bundles of straw. I was
fairly well repaid for this unpleasant experience by
the various conversations which I overheard. One
tramp was philosophizing in a maundering way over
his life on the road, and what first brought him there.
He reasoned that as he was born lazy, the blame
should be put on his parents, but he finally concluded
that the Schnappsflasclie also had had a hand in the

184 Tramping with Tramps

business. Another companion said : '^ Why should I
work, when I can beg more than 1 can possibly earn ?
NoWj if I should follow my trade I could earn about
eighteen marks a week. But as a beggar I can bea,t
that by ten marks. No, brother ; it is n't all the blame
of the Schnappsflasche that we 're on the road. I, for
one, am here because I can do better than anywhere
else. Is n't that so ? " And he nudged me for an an-
swer.

" Well," I said, ^' we lads on the road seem to have
more money than most laborers, but we seldom have
a decent place to lay our heads. For instance, what
sort of place is this we 're in now ? "

^^ Yes, that 's true," he returned ; '^ but then we 're
never sick, always happy, and perhaps we 're just as
well off as anybody else. You forget that we never
work, and that 's a great thing in our favor. Those
lads who have their homes have to work for them,
and don't you forget it. It 's my opinion that the
home is n't worth the labor."

I think this latter opinion is very general in Ger-
man vagrancy, and is one of its main causes. Liquor,
however, is just as much of a curse in Germany as
elsewhere, and brings more men into trampdom than
is usually estimated. The Schnappsflasche is in nearly
every tramp's pocket, and he usually empties it twice
a day. It is a wonder to me how he can do it, for the
schnapps is almost pure alcohol, and burns the throat
terribly. Yet I found jast outside of Brunswick a
female tramp, nearly sixty years of age, who could
empty Die Finne in a single " go," and seemed healthy
too. This woman was the only feminine roadster I

Life among German Tramps 185

met during the journey, and I think she is one of the
very few.

About noon of April 14 I arrived in Brunswick with
Carl, who was on his way to Bremen, where he in-
tended shipping as a coal-trimmer to New York, if
possible. He was disgusted with Germany, he said,
and felt that America was the only place for his ner-
vous activity. He was somewhat surprised, however,
as I was too, to find in Brunswick three American
negroes who seemed to think quite the contrary of
their country. One was an '^ actor," and the other two
were ex- waiters, and they were traveling about tlie
community and getting their living by dancing and
singing in the streets and saloons. Charley, the actor,
said : " We 're doin' pretty well ; have our three
squares a day, and all the booze we want. Can't do
better than that at home." I explained this to Carl, as
none of the negroes spoke German ; but he could not
be convinced that gold was not lying loose in the
streets of American cities. In the afternoon his
hatred of Germany was not quite so intense, as he
begged a mark and a half in about two hours. One
man that he visited was a member of ''The Society
against Begging and Vagrancy," and had a sign to
that effect on his gate-post; but Carl found him, it
seems, a generous Samaritan. This interested me
considerabty, for I had heard good reports of this
society and its members, as well as of its success in
fighting vagabondage. I asked several fellows what
they thought of the organization. One tramp claimed
that he always visited its members,— at least, those
having signs on their gates,— for he was quite as apt

i86 Tramping with Tramps

to be well treated as not. Others were drastic in their
criticisms, and said that the society would let a man
starve rather than feed him. Carl, I think, was about
right when he said that some members of the society
fed vagrants, and some did not, and it was all accord-
ing to chance.

From Brunswick a crowd of tramps, including my-
self, rode in a fourth-class car to a little station called
Peine, in the direction of Hanover. A few of the men
remained here in order to take in the Verpflegung-
Station until the next day. This station, of which
there are about two thousand in Germany, is a place
where a man professing to be penniless can have a
night's lodging, together with supper and breakfast,
for a few hours' work. I moved on toward Hanover
with fifteen other men who were bound in the same
direction. They all had money, and no love for the
Verpflegung-Station. We tramped along at a pace of
about five kilometers to the hour— the usual gait of
tramps when they are compelled to use the highways.
They can beg food enough on the road, and thus the
walking is not so disagreeable, for the German roads
are superb.

At one little village where we stopped for refresh-
ments the crowd took the place by storm, and the peo-
ple were actually frightened into giving us bread and
meat. It is true that the men were rather violent
and used threatening language, yet there was no need
to fear them, as they could hardly have attempted
to do any great harm. For the German tramp, as a
rule, though a great talker and ^^ blower," is a coward,
after all, and when answered rather roughly usually

Life among German Tramps 189

subsides. At the village of Lehrte we again boarded
a train, and rode into Hanover late in the evening.
Some of my companions went to the Heimath, but the
majority hunted out the common Herberge, and I fol-
lowed the crowd. I was treated in the same fashion
as at Magdeburg, and was asked no questions about a
pass. There was great excitement in the Herberge
over several little auctions, which the tramps were
conducting for their own benefit. Some had coats,
vests, and trousers to sell, while others were crying up
the virtue of old buttons, collars, cuffs, neckties, and
even pocket-books, the latter being found in almost
every tramp's pocket. He finds them companionable,
he says, whether he has any money or not. Several
coats sold for five and ten cents apiece, while trousers
brought higher prices. Knives were also on the
market, and fully a dozen changed hands. I was
struck in these auctions by the absence of Jews. In
fact, I met only three during the trip, and they were
extremely well dressed. I fancy that a tramp's life
hardly offers inducements to men of their predilections.
Yet one would think that no work and a fair reward
for begging might satisfy even their trading propen-
sities.

The trip from Hanover to Bremen was uninterest-
ing, with only one incident worth recording. Five of
us stopped on Easter night at one of the large bonfires
that the peasants had built, just outside of Hanover,
to commemorate the great holiday. When we arrived
they were carousing most jovially, and seemed only too
glad to welcome other companions; so we all took

part, and danced around the fire, sometimes with the
11

igo Tramping with Tramps

peasant girls, and then again by ourselves or singly.
The peasants took no notice of the fact that we were
tramps, and shared their sour milk and brown bread
with us as if we were their best friends. One old fel-
low took such a fancy to Carl that he actually gave
him a sechser. I was surprised to see him accept it,
for the old man needed it much more than he did.
This illustrates very truthfully the utter lack of
friendly consideration in the character of the German
tramp. One of the American species would have re-
turned the penny with thanks, for he is a generous
fellow, and can appreciate other interests than his own.
But the Chausseegrabentapezirer has the least tender
feeling of any beggar of my acquaintance. Even as
a boon companion he falls far below the standard, and
would never be tolerated in American trampdom. I
can now understand why the great majority of Ger-
man beggars in America are compelled to " flock ^' by
themselves, and to choose companions from their own
ranks. Their selfishness bars them out of the true
brotherhood.

In Bremen poor Carl suffered a keen disappoint-
ment. He found that he could not ship as a coal-
trimmer without a pass permitting him to leave the
country. I advised him to seek work, and to earn
money enough to pay his passage to New York. His
trade was not overcrowded, and he had had a chance
to labor in nearly every town we had visited, and I
knew that he could succeed in Bremen. He finally
decided to follow my advice ; but the resolution weak-
ened him so that I fear for a week at least he was a
sorry-looking fellow. When we separated, he said,

Life among German Tramps 191

'' Auf Wiedersehen in Sheekago in '93." Indeed, nearly
every tramp that I met intended to cross the ocean in
'93, and to take part in Germany's exhibit at the fair.
Of course they did not all succeed, but some most
certainly did.

While I was sitting in the Heimath in Bremen, who
should come in but a policeman and a detective.
They passed around among the laborers, journeymen,
and vagrants, asking a few questions, and looking
occasionally at the men's passes. I was in somewhat
of a tremor, and expected to be quizzed also. But,
as luck would have it, they passed me by, and I es-
caped a searching. They arrested one tramp, but he
was the only unfortunate I met during my travels.
I learned afterward that he was sentenced to two
days' imprisonment. An American beggar would have
told the judge that he could stand on his head that
long, but the German took it more seriously. From
Bremen I decided to go south, and compare my ex-
periences in northern Germany with tramp life in
the vicinity of Cologne. I left Bremen with seven
men on the train, and traveled the first day as far as
Osnabriick, where I made an unnecessary halt, for I
found nothing new or interesting there. There were
plenty of tramps, it is true, but they had no news to
impart, except that Osnabriick was a poor town. One
youngster could hardly say enough against its hospi-
tality. He claimed that he had even begged of the
clergymen, and all that he received were '' a few pal-
try pfennigs." I must admit that the boy was not far
from correct in his judgment, for I visited several
houses, and all I got was a dry piece of bread, which

192 Tramping with Tramps

was given me by an old woman wiser than she was
generous. Learning that I was a foreigner, she must
needs know all about my ancestors, where I had come
from, and where I was going. And then she made
me listen to a long account of her boy in Piper City,
—she was not sure whether it was in North or South
America, — and asked me if I had ever met him. I told
her that I had not, and she was nearly dumfounded.
She thought that in the United States, "where there
were so few people," everybody should know everybody
else. I left her to her surprise and chagrin.

The city of Mtinster was my next stopping-place,
and a greater contrast to Osnabriick could hardly
exist. At the Herberge I learned that the town was
considered one of the best between Hamburg and
Cologne. The evidence was certainly convincing, for
the tramps had all the liquor they could drink, as
well as numerous bundles of food. Two fellows were
doing a good business in exchanging their bread and
Wurst (sausage) for groschen which others had begged
instead of something to eat. I invested a few sechser
in these wares, and was most bountifully repaid, re-
ceiving half a loaf of bread and two good-sized sau-
sages for two and a half cents of our currency. This
custom is very prevalent in German trampdom, and
will illustrate the machinery of vagrancy. Some men
will beg only for food, while others devote most of
their lives to looking for money, and in almost any
Herberge, even in the Heimath, these two parties can
be found trading as if they were in a market. They
scold, "jew," and fight one another while the trade is
progressing, but when the bargain is finished good

Life among German Tramps 195

fellowship is again resumed. The joviality in the
Herberge after the "market" was as boisterous and
companionable as if there had not been the slightest
trouble. Even the innkeeper took part, and danced
around the room with his guests as if he were as much
of a tramp as any of them. I think he had been a
roadster sometime in his life, for he entered into the
schemes and plans as earnestly as the law allows.
Some of the men were discussing the number of chari-
table families in Mtinster, and more especially those
'^ good " for money. One man, in order to make his
point, enumerated by name the families friendly to
beggars. The innkeeper, not agreeing with him, gave
his own census of the Miinster people, and it was
most interesting to hear from his lips just what citi-
zens were worth visiting and what not. Having
conducted a tramp hotel in the city for years, he had
found it to his interests to gather and dispense in-
formation useful to his customers. He could tell
exactly what house was ''good" for a meal or a
hand-out, and could also map out the districts sure
to yield pfennigs, groschen, or half-mark pieces. It is
needless to say that such a man is invaluable to beg-
gars. They hold him dearer than any other member
of the clan, and pay him most liberally for his wis-
dom by spending nearly all of their money in his inn.
This they can afford to do, for without his information
and protection they would encounter hardships and
difficulties insurmountable. During my stay at the
Herberge, the proprietor sent out as many as eight
fellows to different parts of the town, well posted and
equipped for successful begging. Three of these men

196 Tramping with Tramps

returned while I was still there, having averaged three
marks and a half apiece in about five hours. If they
had worked for this length of time their wage would
have been about one mark apiece.

The journey from Miinster to Diisseldorf is so tire-
some afoot, and there is so little of interest lying be-
tween the towns, that I made the trip by rail, with
three companions bound for Bavaria. These men had
been tramping around in northern Prussia for nearly
two months, and were thoroughly disgusted with their
experiences. This was not surprising, however, for
the Bavarian as well as the Saxon tramps think there
is no prosperity outside of their own provinces, and,
wander as much as they may in foreign parts, usually
return to their own fields, feeling that they made a
mistake in leaving. Begging in these provinces is
also much more remunerative than anywhere else in
Germany. Even the religion in Bavaria favors men-
dicancy, and it is only necessary to stand on a Sunday
morning in front of some church to make a very fair
haul. The tramps loaf around in the neighborhood
of the churches and stossen (tackle) the poor Catholics
as they pass in and out, usually getting a pfennig at
least. One old roadster, thankful that he had lost a
leg in the war of 1870, was unusually successful ; but
I heard afterward that he had been in the city for
years, and probably the people take care of him as
a sort of relic. He was rather clever, too, and had
formed some sage opinions on charity and poverty.
['■ The poor people," he said, " are the best friends we
have. They give ten times where the rich man gives
once." This is an indisputable fact.

Life among German Tramps 197

In Cologne, where I arrived on April 21, the tramps
were planning trips into southern Germany, Switzer-
land, and the Tyrol. I had intended to make at least
one of these excursions, but I was tired, nauseated,
and homesick. I made quick work with the towns of
Elberfeld, Essen, Barmen, and Dortmund, and once
settled down in Berlin, with almanac and gazetteer
before me, found I had been fifteen days aufder Walze,
had traveled over one thousand kilometers, studied
more than seventy towns and villages, and met three
hundred and forty-one voluntarj^ vagrants, all of them,
however, less voluntary than I.

The German tramp, if these experiences justify me
in judging him, is a fairly intelligent fellow of not
more than average tramp education, more stupid and
less vicious than his American confrere, and with the
traits of his nationality well stamped upon him. He
is cautious, suspicious to a degree, ungenerous, but
fairly just and square-dealing in the company of
his fellows. He is too much of a Bohemian to be a
Social Democrat, but has not enough patriotism to be
easily fired with enthusiasm for his Kaiser. He loves
schnapps and hates what he calls the verdammte
HeiUglceit such as Die Herberge zur Heimath seeks
to cultivate. He has generally served his three years
in the army, but will dodge the recruiting officer by
skipping his country whenever possible, if he has not.
Besides this pervasive lack of patriotism, he has
other dangers for the country. In the February
riots in Berlin (1891) he was out in force, not for
labor rights as against capital, but lending his shoul-
der to the wheel which he fondly hoped might turn in

198 Tramping with Tramps

the direction of a general overthrow of the existing
social state and order.

In regard to the public on which the German tramp
lives and thrives, it is only necessary to say that it is
even more inanely generous than its counterpart in the
United States. With all its groans under taxes, mili-
tary and otherwise, it nevertheless takes upon itself
voluntarily the burden of the voluntary vagrant— the
man who will not work. This is the more surprising
when one recollects that the entire theoretical treat-
ment of beggars in Germany is founded on the supposi-
tion that each one is a bona-fide seeker of labor. The
community practically says to the culprit : You can
make use of our Verpflegung-Stationen, where you
can work for your lodging and meals, and have also a
half-day to search for work, if you can identify your-
self as a seeker of labor. We not only offer this, but
also attempt to guarantee you, through the efforts of
our philanthropists, a casual refuge in Die Herberge zur
Heimath, while you are out of work. And if, through
untoward circumstances or through your own careless-
ness and weakness, you have fallen so low that the
Stationen and the Heimath cannot take you in because
your identification-papers are irregular, and you
appear more of a vagabond than an unfortunate
laborer, we then invite you into the labor colonies,
founded also by our philanthropists, where you can
remain until you have earned good clothes and proved
yourself worthy. But if we catch you begging, we
will punish you as a vagrant ; consequently you would
do better to make use of all the privileges we offer,
and thus break no laws. This is the theory, and I con-

Life among German Tramps 199

sider it a good one. But the man who will not work
passes through these institutions as freely as the man
who will, owing to the lack of determined discrimina-
tion on the part of the officers, and the desperate
cleverness of the offenders.

II

WITH THE RUSSIAN GORIOUNS

IT was not my intention, in going to Russia, to tramp
there. I planned merely to see St. Petersburg and
Moscow, work for a while on Count Tolstoi's farm at
Yasnaya Polyana, and then, after a short trip in the
south, return to Berlin. I did all these things accord-
ing to expectation, but I also made a tramp trip. It
happened in this way : I had no more than reached the
Russian capital when the tramp was forced upon me.
As I jumped into the cab with my friend, who had
come to the train to meet me, he pointed out about
twenty tattered and sorry-looking peasants, marching
by us under police escort.

'^ There go some Goriouns," he exclaimed— '4ook
quick ! "

I had only to follow the men with my eyes to know
that they were Russian tramps.

'^ What are the police doing with them ? " I asked.

" Oh, they probably have no passports and are to be
sent back to their villages."

'' Are there many tramps in Russia ? "

My friend laughed. "Thousands of them. You

With the Russian Goriouns 201

can hardly go into a village without meeting them.
They are one of the greatest problems Russia has to
deal with."

I soon saw also that I could not even approach a
church without being accosted by them. They stood
on the steps and at the doorway of every one I visited,
and invariably begged of me, saying, " Radi Krista "
("For Christ's sake"). Even at Yasnaya Polyana, fif-
teen miles from the nearest town, and several minutes'
walk from a highway, the Goriouns put in an appear-
ance. I was there ten days, and at least one called
every morning. They all seemed to know about
Count Tolstoi's gospel, and came to his home, sure, at
least, of something to eat. On the highway, at some
distance from the house, I saw bands of ten and
twenty marching by every day, and they often camped
at a bridge which I crossed on my walks.

This continual meeting the tramp and hearing
about him naturally made me curious, and I won-
dered whether it would be possible to make a journey
among them. I knew enough Russian at least to
make myself understood, and could understand much
that was said to me. The great question, however,
was whether, as a foreigner, I should be allowed to
make such a trip. I talked with Count Tolstoi one
day about the matter, telling him some of my experi-
ences in other countries, and asking his advice.

"Why not?" he said, in his jovial, pleasant way.
" Of course you will have hard work in understanding
their dialects, and you can hardly expect to be taken
for one of them, but otherwise you ought to get on
easily enough. From your pass and other papers the

202

Tramping with Tramps

police will see that you are nothing dangerous, and if
anything should happen, all you have to do is to send
to St. Petersburg. I should like to make such a trip
myself, if I were younger. I 'm too old now. Once
I went on a long pilgrimage and saw a good deal of
the life, but of course you will see much more if you
go directly into the tramp class. If you decide to
make the trip, I wish you would find out how they
look upon the authorities, and whether they really be-
lieve in what they call their religion. It ought to be
very interesting to talk with them on these topics, and
perhaps you will be able to gather some useful material
—only you will not be permitted to print it here in
Russia " ; and he smiled.

I finally decided to make a trial trip, and was for-
tunate in finding a Moscow student who was willing
to accompany me for a few days. He had tramped
perforce in some of the southern provinces, and being
much interested in the tramp class in the Vitebsk
government, consented to go with me if I would begin
my investigations there. I was fortunate also in hav-
ing brought a tramp outfit with me. It had already
seen service in England, Germany, and Italy, and I had
taken it along for work in the fields at Yasnaya Poly-
ana. It was a little better than the usual Gorioun
dress, but I should really have been ashamed to put
on anything shabbier. My friend the student was
clad in a patched university uniform, which all of his
class have to wear in Russia, and he looked like pic-
tures I have seen of ragged Union soldiers in Libby
Prison. We both had a little money in our pockets,
and it was not our intention to beg for anything more

With the Russian Goriouns 203

than bread and milk, and not even for these things
unless it was necessary to make good our pose. We
reasoned that the peasants of whom we should have to
ask for them needed them much more than we did, and
I am glad to say that neither of us on this trip, nor I
on others, which were sometimes made alone, asked
for much that we did not pay for.

Our credentials for the journey consisted of our
passports, some university papers, and an open letter
which I had received in St. Petersburg from Prince
Chilkoff, the Minister of Ways and Communication.
It was addressed to the director of the Siberian Rail-
way, but I kept it by me for the sake of identification,
and it helped me through many a predicament, although
the of&cials to whom it was presented could never get
it through their heads how I, an Amerikanski tramp,
could be in the possession of such an almighty docu-
ment. There were times, I fear, when they were
tempted to arrest me as an impostor, but they never
did— a good fortune which I can only explain on
account of the singularity of the situation. The Rus-
sian "system" was evidently not prepared for so
weird a creature, and I was allowed to pass as an
anomaly.

With the Moscow student I tramped for three days
in the Vitebsk government, between the towns of
Polotsk and Diinaburg, as dreary a stretch of country
as is to be found anywhere in our West. It was warm
August weather, and the sun came down on us in
aU its Russian fierceness. There were times when
I simply had to get under a tree to keep from sun-
stroke. At night we slept out of doors, or in hay-

204 Tramping with Tramps

stacks and barns. The peasants always offered us the
hospitality of their cabins, as they do to all tramps,
but we could not bring ourselves to put up with the
vermin we should have found there. In winter, on
the other hand, the Gorioun is glad enough to curl
up over their stoves, and I suppose that we also should
have been, had the weather been cold. As it was, most
of the vagabonds we met slept outside, as we did, and
we always had plenty of company. On this trip we
met two hundred, traveling in bands and families.
They invariably wanted to know where I came from,
which is the first question they ask, after the greeting,
" Strassvuitye," and I told them the truth on each
occasion. '' America— America," they would say in
their simple way. " What government is that in ? "
meaning what Russian province. I could not make
them understand that it was not in Russia at all, which
to them is the entire world, but they called me " the
far-away brother," and I was probably considered a
new species in their class. I never had the feeling
that they accepted me as one of their own,— it would
have been strange if they had,— but they, at any rate,
dubbed me ^' brother," and this was as much as I could
ask. They always wanted to share their simple fare
with me, and I soon saw that there was but little danger
in associating with them.

n

There are two types of tramps in Russia, and they
may be classified as the authorized and the unauthor-
ized. The first are the so-called religious mendicants,

With the Russian Gorlouns 205

who are protected by the church and tolerated by the
police ; the second are the common vagabonds. It is
these last who constitute, from the Russian point of
view, the tramp problem. The religious beggars are
considered an inevitable church class, and are taken
care of almost as conscientiously as the priests. The
common tramps, on the other hand, are looked upon
as a very unnecessary burden, and ever since the con-
version of Russia to Christianity, laws have been passed
and institutions founded for their suppression and
reform. It is estimated that in European Russia
alone they number over nine hundred thousand, and
in Siberia their class represents an even greater pro-
portion of the population.

Their national name among themselves is '^Gori-
ouns"— mourners, or victims of grief. The word is
an invention of their own, but is supposed to come
from the Russian word gore, meaning sadness. In
Russian proper they are called hrodiagi. If you ask
them why they do not work,— and the great majority
are perfectly able to do so,— they reply in the forlornest
voice mortal ever heard : " Master, I am a Gorioun
—a victim of sorrow." They seem to have accepted
the philosophy that a certain number of human beings
are foreordained to a life of misery and sadness, and
they pose as members of this class. On many of
their passports I saw such expressions as "Burned
out," "Has lost all his relatives," "Has no home,"
" Will die soon," " Is possessed of the pitiful spirit,"
and others of a like nature, which they bribe officials
to write, or themselves forge. I could have had similar
explanations put on my own passport. There are

2o6 Tramping with Tramps

tramps who make a regular business of this kind of
imposture, and it is another evidence of how difficult
it is to make even a passport tell the truth. In Ger-
many the same trick is practised by tramps, and in
both countries the beggar can buy false passes which
the police cannot detect. I saw several in Russia
which looked exactly like the genuine thing, and, had
I wished to appear to be a Russian, could have bought
one any day for ten rubles.

In looks and dress the Gorioun acts out to a
nicety the story which his papers are supposed to sub-
stantiate. Never have I seen such sad faces as these
men and women have when begging. At heart they
are capable of considerable fun and boisterousness, but
they affect a look of despondency, which many of them
retain even when off duty. In other respects they
resemble very closely the ordinary peasant, or muzhik.
They all have an immense shock of hair, parted in the
middle and chopped off roughly at the edges. The
face is generally covered with a huge beard, which
gives them a backwoodsman look not always indica-
tive of their character. In America, for instance, they
would be taken by tramps for " Hoosiers," but, in their
way, they are just as clever and sharp as the hobo who
would laugh at them. Indeed, I know of no hobo who
can equal them in facial trickery and disguise, and
wherever this is the necessary qualification for success-
ful begging they are past masters. Their clothes are
invariably rough and patched, and if by some chance
they get a good suit it is pawned or sold immediately.
The usual peasant shirt or blouse takes the place of a
coat, and the trousers are tucked into the boots also in

With the Russian Goriouns 207

peasant fashion. A tea-pot hangs at the belt, and a
bundle, containing all their possessions, is slung over
the shoulder. Thus they tramp about the country
from village to village, year in and year out, and are
always distinguishable from the fact that on meeting
a Gospodinn (gentleman), or any one else of whom
they can beg, off come their greasy caps, down go
their great shocky heads, and they say, " Radi Krista."
When tramping on the highway, they average about
fifteen miles a day, but a great many never make
over five. One old man on the Kursk road, between
Tula and Orel, told me that he was satisfied if he cov-
ered three versts a day,— a verst is two thirds of a mile,
—and he expected that it would take him the entire
autumn and part of the winter to reach Odessa, whither
he was bound. In this respect the Goriouns are Uke
all other vagabonds ; they love rest, and if they find
a good place, stick to it as long as possible. In the
country they make their homes with the peasants,
sleeping in summer in sheds and haystacks, and in
winter in the peasants' cabins. Plagues though they
are, the peasant always gives them shelter, and it very
seldom happens that they die of cold or starvation in
districts thickly populated. I could have stopped for
days in every village I passed through, and the peasants
would even have protected me from the police if it had
been in their power. Their own life is so hard that it
comes natural to take pity on the tramp, and they all
have the feeling that favors thus shown prepare a place
for them in the heaven of their imagination. Indeed,
the Gorioun plays on this feeling in begging of them.

I often heard him say, in asking for alms : *' It wiU
12

2o8 Tramping with Tramps

help you out above " ; and his humble friends seemed
pleased to be thus assured.

Men predominate in the Gorioun class, but in no
other country that I have visited are there so many
women and families " on tramp." They are all mixed
up together, men, women, and children, and no great
effort is made to keep even the families intact. I was
told by tramps that in the peasantsV cabins there is
very little separation even between the peasants and
the vagabonds, and on cold nights they all curl up in
a heap on the tops of the great piles of masonry which
serve them as stoves. In large cities they live in
lodging-houses and night-shelters. In St. Petersburg
these places are found mainly in what is called the
''Siennaia," about five blocks behind the Kazan
cathedral. There are entire alleyways and courts in
this district given up to the Goriouns, and in one
house alone, Dom Viazemski, over ten thousand lodge
every night. They have the right to return to their
planks at any time during the day, and speak of them
as their homes— their dom. The cost of a ''spot" on
the benches is thirty-five copecks (about twenty cents)
a week, in advance.

The life that goes on here is pretty much the same
as in lodging-houses everywhere, but there are a few
peculiar features to be noticed. In the first place,
there is a chief, or ataman, of the Goriouns of
each room, and he is given the rights and privileges
of a buUy. He is the strongest and most daring of
all, and his companions allow him to play ''the
almighty act," as the hobo would say, in their con-
fabs and councils. Any tramp who refuses to knuckle

..1.1.1 i.. . l.\ A I'.WIS.

With the Russian Goriouns 21 1

down to him is considered either a spy or a rival can-
didate, in which latter case he must fight it out with
fists, and sometimes with knives. If he is successful
he takes the ataman place, and holds it until some
one else dislodges him. In case he is taken for a spy
he is shunned by all concerned, and I was told that
every year several men are killed on this suspicion.
When an actual raid by the police is planned, the
ataman generally gets wind of it beforehand, and all
lights are put out before the police arrive. They can
then accomplish very little, and while I was in St.
Petersburg several of their attempted raids ended
unsuccessfully.

Another queer custom is the way each man takes
care of his boots. In every country the ScMiJuverk, as
the Germans say, is prized, perhaps, more than any other
part of the wardrobe, but the reason in St. Peters-
burg is unique. Thanks to his boots, the Gorioun
can be enrolled as a torch-bearer or mourner at
funerals, and this is one of his most lucrative em-
ployments. The aerencies which manage funerals re-
cruit from the tramp class so many mourners for each
interment; about thirteen thousand are employed
in this way every year. The agencies furnish the
suitable clothes and pocket-handkerchiefs— every-
thing, in fact, but the shoes, which the tramp must be
able to show on his feet, or he will not be hired.
When a funeral is '' on," the tramps gather at the
Nikolski market, and are selected by an employee of
the agency. Those chosen are conducted to the house
of the deceased, and there, under a porch, in a shed,
or even in the court, ten, twenty, or thii'ty of them,

212 Tramping with Tramps

according to the elaborateness of the funeral, un-
dress themselves entirely, even in the dead of winter,
and put on the mourner's garb. Their own clothing is
rolled up in a bundle and taken to the cemetery in a
basket, where, after the ceremony, it must be put on
again. The promised wage for this service is forty
copecks a man, but with tips and drinks it usually
amounts to a ruble. The St. Petersburg street-gamins
have a way of crjdng out, "Nachel li?" (^'Hast thou
found it ?") to the Goriouns as they file along— an allu-
sion to their daylight torches. Some very funny scenes
take place when the boys get too saucy ; for the men
forget, in their anger, the solemnity of the situation,
and, dropping their torches, run after the boys, much
to the consternation of the agency and the family
concerned.

The funeral over and the money in their pockets,
they return to the lodging-house for an uproarious
night spent in drinking vodka. When the last drop
is gone, they fall over on their planks senseless, and
to see them in this condition makes one fancy he is
looking on in a morgue. They lie there as if dead, and
the stench in the room could not be worse if they
were actually in a state of decay. One would think,
under such circumstances, there must be a heavy
percentage of sickness and mortality among them,
but I think this is not true. I saw a number of
crippled and deformed beggars, but otherwise they
seemed a fairly healthy lot, and never anywhere have
I seen such herculean bodies. Many of them looked
as if they could lift an ox, and in one of the few
squabbles that I witnessed, they knocked one another

With the Russian Goriouns 213

about in a way tliat would have done lionor to pro-
fessional pugilists. However, these knock-down fights
are not frequent. For a people so degraded they are
phenomenally sweet-tempered ; in England and Amer-
ica, tramps with their strength would be measuring it
on all occasions.

In the lodging-houses, as in the peasants' cabins,
men and women are mixed up together, and there
seems to be no effort at all to keep them separated.
They say that they are married, or "belong to the
family," and the Starosta (proprietor) allows them to
keep together. Their children— and each couple has
its full share— are used for begging purposes ; indeed,
they are the winning card of the Russian tramp. If
they are deformed or crippled, so much the better.

The food of these tramps is probably the simplest
bill of fare known among European vagabonds. On
the road they seldom have more than black bread and
milk, and even in towns they are satisfied with the
addition of a dish of potatoes. Meat they know very
little about, and it almost never occurs to them to
spend their money for a good steak ; they prefer to
buy vodka. Of course there are exceptions to this
rule ; in every country there are beggars who keep up
with the latest styles and indulge in a gourmet's dishes,
but they are not common in Russia.

There is another trait of the Goriouns to record
—their clannishness. In almost every government
of the empire they are organized as compactly as a
trade-union, and even in St. Petersburg, strict as the
police are, they have their peculiar artel It was im-
possible for me to become a member of these corpo-

214 Tramping with Tramps

rations. I should have had to knuckle down very sub-
missively to some ataman, or bully, and this I was
not willing to do. It would also have been neces-
sary to learn the different dialects, and I had all I
could do to make use of my small Russian vocabulary.
Each artel has its own peculiar lingo, and it is
almost as hard to learn as Russian itself. Even the
native inhabitants know very little about such dialects,
and the students who traveled with me had as much
difficulty as I did in understanding them. Fortu-
nately, however, the tramps can also speak Russian,
and we generally conversed with them in this language.
I give here what I learned about their various artels,
but it is in no sense an exhaustive report. There are
many of which I heard nothing, and it would take a
book to describe them all.

In Moscow one of the most notorious clans is the
so-called ^' Gouslitzki," or " Old Believers," who came
originally from the district of Bogorodsk. They are
mixed up with the regular working population of the
town and have no particular sign by which a stranger
could distinguish them, but their business is entirely
criminal. They counterfeit money, forge passports
and baptismal certificates, beg and steal, and the police
have to keep a continual watch over them. Ostensibly
their business is manufacturing trinkets, colored im-
ages, and toys, but these are merely subterfuges to
gain them the privilege of standing on the sidewalks
as hawkers. In their lodging-houses— and there are
several supported by them alone— they live under the
direction of a head man whom they must obey, and a
certain percentage of their day's earnings has to be

With the Russian Goriouns 215

contributed to a common fund. From time to time
this fund is divided equally among all the members
of the organization, but it is almost immediately given
back as "renewed stock." The Gouslitzki are unlike
most of their class in being veiy parsimonious, and
they have the reputation of drinking very little— some
not at all. They speak two languages, Russian and a
dialect which is practically their mother-tongue. They
have been settled in Moscow for generations, and the
police find it impossible to drive them out.

The " Chouvaliki," another well-knoTvn gang, are
mainly peasants, but they come also from the Moscow
government, being settled in the districts of Veresisk
and Mozhaisk. It would be very peculiar in America
to see a band of farmers starting off on begging and
marauding trips, but this happens in Russia, and the
Chouvaliki are of this class. In the census of Russia
they are put down as peasants, and they do pretend
to work a part of the year, but they are known from
Moscow to the Don as the begging Chouvaliki. They
go on the road twdce a year, and exploit by prefer-
ence the governments of Tamboff, Voronesh, and so
on down to the Don. The Russians call them brig-
ands, and tell frightful stories about their robberies,
but the Goriouns spoke of them merely as beggars,
and I fancy this is what they are. On returning from
their trips, which last sometimes several weeks, they
spend in one orgy all the money they have taken in.

It is in White Russia, and above all in the gov-
ernment of Vitebsk, farther north, that the tramps
form these beggars' organizations. During my jour-
ney through the Vitebsk government I heard of them

2i6 Tramping with Tramps

right and left, and it is this district that contributes
largely to the criminal population of St. Petersburg.
The rich Ukraine is also a notorious haunt. At Khar-
koff, for instance, I got into a regular nest of them,
called ^^Tchortoff Gniezda" (Nest of Devils). They
live there in dirty little cabins and underground
caves, a close community with its ataman and com-
mon funds. They start out in the morning on their
begging trips, and return at night for debauches, those
who have been most successful inviting their raMiy or
pals, to celebrate with them. There is a careful divi-
sion, or douban, of all the spoils taken in during the
day, and each one receives his share, minus the con-
tribution to the common tribe.

In Kazan, the Tatar town on the Volga, there is
an artel of beggars whose origin goes back to the
taking of Kazan \>y Ivan IV, and they are known all
over Russia as the ''Kazanskia Sieroty" (the Kazan
Orphans). Although Mussulmans, they beg "in the
name of Christ " (" Radi Krista ")• They will beg even
from other beggars if they do not belong to their
organization, and consider everybody their prey who
is not an '^ Orphan." They can only be compared to
the tramps who exploit the governments of Samara and
Saratoff, and those coming from fifteen villages of the
districts of Saransk and Insarsk, in the government of
Penza. These last, although officially peasants, are
all organized into narrow begging corporations, and
call themselves " Kalousni," which comes from their
dialect word halit, meaning "to reap," or, as they
would say, "to beg." In Moscow, on the other
hand, the generic dialect term for beggars is "Zvo-

With the Russian Goriouns 217

nary," which comes from zvonit, also meaning ''to
beg."

The Kalousni, or " Reapers," start out on their beg-
ging trips in their wagons immediately after harvest.
All of them who can move, excepting the very oldest
and youngest, depart for " the work," as it is called.
Those who have no blind or deformed children of their
own rent them in neighboring villages. The village
of Akchenas is the center of this trade, and peasants
send their deformed children there to be marketed off.
In the Galitzin village, in the government of Penza,
amounting to three hundred cabins, five hundred of
the inhabitants are peasant beggars ; in Akchenas, one
hundred and twenty cabins, there are only four persons
who are not " Reapers " ; in Germakoff, another hamlet
of the district, there is not an inhabitant who does not
go kalit (begging). The return of these bands to
their homes is celebrated by f^tes and orgies. The
main one is on November 8, St. Michael's day, when
they spend every copeck they have collected. The
next trip takes place in winter, and they return to
their villages by Lent. The third return is just be-
fore Pentecost.

Although I did not tramp in Siberia, I traveled
there and heard much of the local tramps. They are
not so definitely organized as in European Russia,—
many travel entirely alone,— but I saw and heard of
several categories. On the highway between Ekate-
rinburg and Tinmen the traveler is accosted by
beggars known as the '' Kossoulinski." They live
exclusively by begging, and in summer sleep out of
doors along the route between the towns mentioned.

2i8 Tramping with Tramps

At Ekaterinburg there are also unnamed gangs of
young men and little boys and girls who are continually
begging of the inhabitants. They are generally the
children of deported convicts, or those of peasants who
were driven by famine out of neighboring districts.

If I could have got into the wooded parts of Siberia
I might also have made the acquaintance of that queer
product of Siberian prison life, the runaway convict
tramp. Early in the spring he makes a dash for lib-
erty, sometimes being shot down in the attempt, and
then again succeeding. He runs to the woods and
lives there until autumn, when, if there is no hope of
getting back to European Russia, he gives himself up
and returns to prison again. In the spring, " when the
birds call him," as one of his songs pathetically relates,
he makes another dash for the trees. Only at night
does he venture into the villages, and then merely for
a moment to snatch the food left for him on the win-
dow-sills by the generous-hearted peasants. He grabs
the bread, or whatever it is that they have set out, and
then scampers back to the woods like a wolf.

Ill

Religious beggars in Russia are a class by them-
selves. In giving alms to them the average Russian
thinks that he is making so much more likely his wel-
come in heaven, and they, of course, stand by him in
the conceit. If you give them a ruble they will swear
that you are going to heaven, and even twenty copecks
make one's chance pretty good.

The most easily distinguished type is what is called

With the Russian Gor'iouns 219

the religious lay mendicant. He is always standing
around the churches in St. Petersburg and Moscow,
and everybody who has visited these cities will recall
him. He is generally an old peasant, begging for
some village church, and the police or church authori-
ties give him the necessary passes and stamped docu-
ments. He stands at a church door or near some
shrine, bareheaded and with a little plate in his hand,
covered with cloth on which is embroidered the cross.
This is a passe-partout wherever he goes, and serves as
an excuse for entering restaurants, railway-stations,
and other public places. As a Russian gentleman said
to me : '^ You can't drive a man out with the cross in
his hand," and he is consequently allowed to go pretty
much where he pleases. Unfortunately, however, it
is not very difficult to imitate him, and there are a
number of Goriouns in Russia, posing as religious
lay mendicants. They counterfeit the necessary
papers, buy the plate and cross, and then beg with all
their might. Occasionally they are discovered and
severely punished, but the winnings from this kind of
begging are so tempting— sometimes as much as ten
rubles, or five dollars a day— that they are willing to
run the risk. There are also monk beggars who pro-
ceed in the same way as those of the lay order, except
that they wear monk costumes. It is consequently
not easy for the common tramp to imitate them, but
it has been done.

Authorized and permitted though these monks are,
there is but little need for them to beg, for their con-
vents are almost without exception rich. The more
they have, however, the more they want, and so the

220 Tramping with Tramps

monks are sent out to beg of poor and rich ahke. An
amusing story is told of how one of these convents was
reheved of some of its superfluous wealth. During
the Crimean War Nicholas I borrowed ten million
rubles from the Laura monastery at Kieff, and gave
in exchange his note like any other mortal. Alex-
ander II, after coming to the throne, made a tour
of the provinces and visited Kieff, where, according
to custom, the first thing he did was to caU at the
Laura. He was received by the metropolitan and
clergy in great array, and during the ceremony the
note of Nicholas was presented to him, of course for
payment, on a beautiful plate. He took the bit of
paper, read it carefully, and then, holding it high in
the air, said in a ver}^ solemn voice : " Behold the
most touching proof of the patriotism of Russia's
clergy when she has need of them ! I cannot better
thank you than by giving you, as a glorious memento,
this autograph of my august father." And that
ended the matter for all time.

The pilgrims are another type of religious beggar.
They also are mainly old peasants, who have made a
vow to go afoot to some distant shrine, often a thou-
sand miles away. They take with them only money
enough to buy candles to place at the altars where
they worship en route, and trust to the mercy of the
people they meet for food and shelter. No peasant
would refuse them hospitality, and they are taken in
whenever they appear. Money is never offered them,
because it is known that they will not accept it. All
they want is food enough to keep body and soul to-
gether, and this they feel free to ask for.

With the Russian Goriouns 221

These pilgrimages are very frequent in !Russia, and
are always the result of a vow, made sometimes many
years before. Each famous monastery, like the Solo-
viecki, near the White Sea, the Troitzke, near Mos-
cow, the Laura, at Kieff, and many others, has its
days of '' grand pardon," which attract pilgrims from
the farthest points of the empire. They travel invari-
ably on foot, and occasionally in bands, but the typi-
cal pilgrim goes alone. His destination is sometimes
even Jerusalem. This is often the case among de-
voted monks, who make this the last act of a life con-
secrated to the church. The peasants feed and shelter
the pilgrim, and he is one of their main objects of
veneration.

There is one more class of authorized beggars in
Russia— the nuns. These women, with long robes and
pointed bonnets, generally travel in couples. They beg
on what is called the ^' contract system." An arrange-
ment is made with a convent by which they are allowed
to exploit certain districts, and they agree in return to
give the convent a certain percentage of their win-
nings ; all over this amount belongs to them personally.
They are taxed according to their ability, the percen-
tage varying from one to three rubles a day. When
they are young and pretty, which they sometimes are,
they do very well. As a Russian who has often given
to them said to me : ^^ You can't give copper to a pretty
woman," and they know wonderfully well how to
make their attractions tell. They are acquainted with
all the ^' good places," and learn quickly to discern the
generous giver. There is no doubt, however, that
much is given them without any thought of the church

222 Tramping with Tramps

or religion, and it is an open secret in Russia that
there is a great deal of corruption among them. I
myself saw them in a state of intoxication several
times, and their conduct was not at all in keeping with
their religious calling.

IV

SoiMETHiNG remains to be said about the causes of
vagabondage in Russia and what is being done to sup-
press it. The religious mendicants must be left out of
the discussion, for they are not supposed to be a part
of the problem. It is the Gorioun class that the
Russians are particularly anxious to be rid of, and it
is they who correspond to the tramp class in more
Western countries.

The love of liquor is the main cause of their degrada-
tion. Two thirds could be made respectable men and
women if they were free of their passion for drink, and
until they are, I see no hope of bettering them. They
will even steal from the churches, religious as they
are, if impelled by thirst for vodka, and it is simply
impossible for an employer to have anything to do
with them. In St. Petersburg a large number of
them are discharged mechanics and day-laborers, who
know perfectly well how to earn their living, but have
lost position after position on account of their loose
habits. The minute they get a week's wage, they
go off and spend it for drink, and then there is no
place for them.

Besides this strictly individual cause, there are cer-
tain economic facts which help to explain the situa-

With the Russian Goriouns 225

tion. The lowering of railroad fares has started a
regular hegira of peasants toward the towns, where
they imagine that they are to make their fortunes.
We think in America that a great deal might be
done to change the lot of outcasts if they could be led
back to the country and settled on farms, but Russia
teaches us plainly enough that this alone will not suf-
fice. There must be something besides country air
and surroundings to offset the attractions and temp-
tations of city life. In Russia it has been found that
after the peasant has once experienced these attrac-
tions he is never happy on the farm.

Over seven thousand peasant tramps are sent away
from St. Petersburg every year, but a still larger
number find their way back. There is a case on
record where a man was sent away one hundred and
seven times and returned after each expulsion. When
one takes into consideration that the majority of all
those thus sent away receive new clothes before leav-
ing, it is easy to see what an expense they are to the
town, and the most of them sell their new clothes at the
first opportunity. This is one of the weakest points in
all the Russian methods with tramps. The police re-
turn vagabonds to their villages, expecting them thus
to be kept away from city temptations, but the trouble
is that they cannot hold them there. They run back
to the towns the first chance they get, and then there
has to be another expensive expulsion. Lately some
of the governors of inland districts have petitioned
the police to stop doing this, explaining that tramps
thus returned corrupt their village companions.

Besides returning a beggar to his village, there are

226 Tramping with Tramps

also light punishments. If he is arrested for the first
time in St. Petersburg, he is brought before a commis-
sion, by which he is questioned and then handed over
to a more special committee, before which he must
submit to another cross-questioning. If he can prove
that he has been driven to beg by poverty alone, he is
recommended to the care of the poor authorities of his
district. If he has been arrested several times before,
he is taken immediately to a justice, by whom he is
condemned to a punishment, varying, according to cir-
cumstances, from a month's to three months' hard
labor in prison. These are only such beggars as
have been caught in the act, so to speak, and have
papers certifying to their identity. Those who are
found without passports are taken in hand by the
police alone. If nothing very bad is found against
them, they are allowed to go free, if some one will
stand sponsor for them ; in this case they must send
to their home authorities for a passport, and if it is
received they can remain in the town for a period of
three months. It is possible with good conduct to
have this term of probation prolonged to nine months,
but after that, unless very good reasons are given, the
man must return to his village.

There are also reformatory and charitable institu-
tions which seek a regeneration of the tramp on phil-
anthropic grounds. Recently a number of workhouses
have been put up in the largest towns, and great hopes
are placed in these very praiseworthy undertakings.
The present empress has taken them all under her
personal protection, and there is every likelihood that
they will be weU supported. The effort is thus made

With the Russian Goriouns 227

to offer every tramp a chance to work j they are to
serve as a test-house where the Gorioun can show
what he really is. He is not compelled to make
use of them, but if it should be discovered that he
knew about them and still begged, he would be pun-
ished very severely.

Both men and women are received, and they can
earn their daily bread by working for it. Lodging
must be found elsewhere, but children can be left
during the day in a creche belonging to the institu-
tion. Father John of Kronstadt is credited with hav-
ing founded the first of these workhouses, but it is
only lately that they have become popular. If well
managed they ought to do good, for the great ques-
tion in Russia, as well as everywhere else, is to find out
who the really deserving are, and the workhouses
can be of great assistance in developing the facts.
How much they will aid in lessening the professional
vagabondage of the country remains to be seen. If
the police— and everybody knows what powers the
Russian police have— are unable to accomplish this,
it is hardly likely that the workhouses can do much
more. Indeed, I fear that nothing can root out en-
tirely this class in Russia. It is too old and settled
to give up the struggle without a long resistance,
and there are traditions dear to all Russians which
will forever aid the Gorioun in his business. A Rus-
sian prince with whom I talked about the possibility
of getting rid of the tramp class said to me : " It is
simply out of the question. We are all beggars,
every mother's son of us. The aristocrat begs a
smile of the czar, and others ask for honors, posi-

13

228 Tramping with Tramps

tions, decorations, subsidies, and pensions, and it is
these beggars who are the most persistent of all.
Russia is the land of na tchai ["for tea," like pour
hoire in French, and Trinkgeld in German], and no
laws or imperial ukase will ever make it any dif-
ferent."

Ill

TWO TRAMPS IN ENGLAND

THE British tramp had long been an object of curi-
osity with me. I felt that I knew his American
cousin as well as it is possible to know him by liv-
ing with him, and I had learned the ways of the
German Chausseegrabentapezirer. Among my friends
in the university at Berlin was a student of philosophy
who also regarded the English tramp with interest so
great that he was willing to make a tramp journey
with me to discover and study him. He doubted
somewhat his ability to pass for an undeveloped va-
grant, but decided to try it. We suffered, I am proud
to say, no diminution of our friendship in this curious
comradeship in a new field.

One February day we drew up our agreement, and
on the same day left for Hamburg. There we took
ship for Grimsby, on a boat carrying mainly steerage
passengers. Our fellow-travelers were twenty-two
homeward-bound sailors, an old woman, and a young
girl on her way to London to marry a man with whom
she had fallen in love by telegram— at any rate, so
she said.

We were all cooped up together in a nasty little

229

230 Tramping with Tramps

hole absolutely without ventilation. I felt sorry for
the women, and they, in their kind-hearted way, said
that they were sorry for me, '' because I looked so
sick-like." But I anticipate a little.

While we were still lying at the dock we had an
amusing experience. Just as the gang-plank was
nearly ready to be hauled in, two detectives came on
board. I was surprised that they had not appeared
before ; for it is one of Kaiser Wilhelm's strong points
to see that none of his young men, or "dear ser-
vants," as he calls them, get out of his domain before
they have done their duty in his army. The sailors
laughed at them, and told them to go home ; mean-
while Ryborg and I were supposedly asleep. That
there was method in this drowsiness I cannot denj^,
for Ryborg had no really current pass, and we were
both fearful of being detained. We were finally dis-
covered, and when one of the officers asked me if we
were sailors, I rather naturally said, " Yes," being half
asleep, and having seen that they had not disturbed
the true seamen.

The man was determined to see my passport, how-
ever, and the long sheet of paper amused him consid-
erably. He called it ein mdchtiges Ding, and I patri-
otically told him he was right, and that it was about
the " greatest thing " he had ever handled. He failed
to see the point, and poked Ryborg. Then I quaked a
little, but laughed inwardly too, when Ryborg handed
him his student's card ; for it did seem odd to find
a student of philosophy in that miserable den. The
detective thought so too, and claimed that he did not
exactly understand the situation.

Two Tramps in England 231

"Are you a sailor, a workman, an American, or
whatr' said the officer.

*' Ich bin— ein Studierter " (" I am— a learned one "),
gasj)ed Ryborg.

That settled the matter. The detectives walked off,
and we were left for the following thirty-two hours to
our North Sea misery, which was of such a character
that, when we landed, we vowed never to go to sea
again.

Grimsby was uninteresting, so we went straight on
to Hull. As this was the point where our vagabondage
was properly to begin, I soon had my eye on watch for
what American tramps call a '' town bum." I found
one in a main street, and introduced myself thus :

**' I say, Jack, can you tell us where the moochers
hang out in these parts ? "

" You 're a Yank, ain't you?" said he.

This I acknowledged, at the same time asking,
''Why?"

'' Because I know a lot of blokes over in your coun-
try, an' I 'm thinkin' o' goin' over myself. How d' you
think I'd like it?"

" Tiptop," I answered ; " but you know they 're
givin' the likes of us ninety days in Chicago now."

"0-oh, well, p'r'aps I '11 go over later," was his
rejoinder; and then he told me where the moochers
were to be found.

"You see thet corner? Well, just turn thet, an'
keep hoofin' along till you come to an alley. Go up to
the top, then down on your right to the bottom, an'
ask roun' there somewhere for Blanket Row. You '11
find all the moochers you want there ; but look out for

232 Tramping with Tramps

the Robert and the Dee [the pohceman and the detec-
tive]. They '11 give you seven days if they catch you
moochin'.'^

We found Blanket Row all right, and, luckily
enough, at No. 21, a kip-house (lodging-house), or
doss-house, as some call it, nicknamed " The Dog's
Home." It looked rather uninviting, and we gazed at
it carefully before entering. After a little consulta-
tion we made up our minds to go in, so we walked
through a long and dirty passage, pushed open a
creaky, rickety door, and found ourselves in a smoky,
dirty hole containing about fifty moochers. I was
greeted with : '' Hello, Yank ! Where 'd you come
from ? "

The voice came from the fire, and I walked over
from the door, and found as miserable a specimen of
vagrancy as one often sees. I sat down, and told him
a long " ghost-story " (yarn), and he returned the favor
in the same coin. When he was convinced that I was
one of the fraternity, he pointed out various things of
interest.

" Them fires," said he, " is where you cook your scoff
[food]. You can make tea, too, any time you like, pro-
vided, of course, you 've got the tea. You '11 find all
the pots, cans, pans, and boilers in that corner -, they
b'long to the missus, but we use them. Them cup-
boards over there is where you put your grub, ef
you 're stayin' here any time ; they cost a tanner [six-
pence] apiece, but they ain't worth hawkin'. My
stomach 's the only cupboard I need. That piece o'
paper on the wall 's the only sort of picter they 've got
in the place."

Two Tramps in England 233

I looked over at tlie wall, and saw upon it a notice
to the effect that smallpox was in the district, and that
persons would be vaccinated free of charge at a place
specified.

All this while Ryborg was doing his best to play
tramp, and the stories he told, the tough way in which
he tried to tell them, the half-and-haK effects they
achieved, and his general out-of-place condition, were
almost as interesting to me as the real moochers. I
overheard him telling one of the men that he was " a
sailor by inclination, but a tough by temperament."

One of the tramps had taken a fancy to him, and was
determined to be hospitable, so he boiled a large can
of tea, and made poor Ryborg drink, drink, drink, till
he had actually taken two quarts of the beverage at
one sitting. He told me afterward that he had made
up his mind, if any more were offered him, to pour it
into his pocket, and trust to luck not to get caught.

The Dog's Home in the second story consisted prin-
cipally of beds. The price of each is threepence a
night, and this is the common price all over Great
Britain, except in the so-called ''Models," where a
penny more is charged simply for the very deceitful
name. I am sorry to say that the house was not
much cleaner in the second story than in the first, if
the tramps told us the truth. They all agreed in say-
ing that the place was "crummy" (infested with
vermin) ; consequently we decided to sleep elsewhere ;
for we wanted a good night's rest, and there was
nothing especially to be gained by staying there.

We lived in the " home " in the daytime, however,
and were on the watch for everything of interest. As

234 Tramping with Tramps

for the " sweet charity " of Hull, I learned that most
of the moochers were satisfied when they could beg
a "bob" (shilling) a day besides "scoff," and some
seemed happy on fourpence a day. The old men
and the young boys were most successful in begging.
There were vagrants of middle age, and some much
younger, who did fairly well ; but they lacked the de-
termined spirit of the grandfathers and the kids.
I had noticed this before in America, and suppose it
is because the very old and the very young tramps
realize that they must rely on their begging for sub-
sistence, while the vagrants of twenty-five and thirty
know that they have an alternative in work when
luck goes against them, and are consequently less in
earnest.

My companion and I, being somewhat better dressed
than most of the lodgers, were objects of considerable
interest. Our hats, peculiarly American in style, were
the main curiosities. They proclaimed our nationality
wherever we went. Never in my life have I been so
bothered with stares. One day I took off my hat in a
small crowd of people, and asked a bystander if he saw
anything peculiar about it. He admitted that he did
not; but still the citizens of Hull guyed me unmer-
cifully, and, for that matter, so did their countrymen
elsewhere.

I had been accustomed in America to dress fairly
well when tramping, and the very clothes I was wear-
ing in England had seen service at home and in Ger-
many also ; therefore I was quite unprepared for
their comical reception by the British. There was
only one man in the Dog's Home who appreciated our

Jr

_,-,-.

/

'"\

AN KNGLISU TVrE.

Two Tramps in England 237

style, and he was a countryman not so very long out
of America. He was a most interesting fellow ; had
been both workman and tramp at home ; but one day
bade good-by to Hartford, Connecticut, and decided
to go abroad. He came to Glasgow on a cattle-ship,
expecting to get a return pass on his arrival, but was
deceived, and put ashore with only four shillings in
his pocket. Naturally he was angry, and made up his
mind to see Scotland, England, and Wales at the ex-
pense of Scotchmen, Englishmen, and Welshmen. It
was a courageous thing to do, if not a moral one ;
and, perhaps, it was not so very wicked, for his one
ambition seemed to be to see the Tower of London.
He had been " on tramp " about two months, had had
some interesting experiences, and had become some-
what opinionated. Hearing that he had been in Scot-
land, I was interested to know whether he liked the
country and had learned any of the tramp dialect that
one might need there.

'^ To tell the truth, mate," he said, " I was too drunk.
You see, I got hold of a fellow in Glasgow who had
some boodle, and we chummed it together till the
boodle was gone ; and the only thing I can tell you
about Glasgow or Edinburgh is that they 've got a fine
pile of stone in Edinburgh, right in the main street,
to the memory of that story-writer— you know his
name— what is it?"

I suggested '' Scott," and he went on :

'^ Yies ; that 's it— Scott. Well, since I 've been out
of Scotland I Ve had some hard times, and I 'd 'a' been
in Ameriky long ago if I had n't pawned my rubber
boots. I tell you, Jack, I 'd ruther be lynched in our

238 Tramping with Tramps

country than die a natural death over here ; and as for
moochin' and lodgin', why, I can beg in five minutes
in New York more money than I can here in a day.
As it is, I 'm a little bit of a wonder to some of these
fellows, because I 'm so dead struck on havin' the
pleasures of life. I look for 'em till I get 'em, you
know, and so fur I 've had my bob a day, besides
chuck. And that 's more than some of these blasted
gay-cats can say. Did you ever in your life see such
badly faked bums? They make me think of prehis-
toric gorillas. Half the time only a few parts of their
bodies are covered in, and yet they think they can
batter more when togged that way. How 's that for
bein' bughouse [crazy], eh ? Oh, well, you can laugh
all you want to ; but by the time you 've seen two
per cent, of what I 've seen, you '11 say, ' Thet Yank
war n't fur from bein' right.' " He promised to have
another talk with me at the World's Fair.

The fellow was correct about the clothes and the
filthiness of the English moocher. Generally he
dresses in a way that in America would be thought
indecent and in Germany criminal. He is too lazy to
clean up, if he had the chance, and harbors vermin as
if he liked them. It is not surprising that lodging-
houses are so unclean ; for if the proprietors of these
places should admit only decent tramps, their houses
would be left without occupants in a very short time.
This is not an attractive theme, but it is one for the
practical reformer to treat ; for I am convinced that
when a man becomes callous in regard to filth, his
reformation will be far to seek. And there is nothing
that can make a purely temporary vagrant a thor-

Two Tramps in England 239

oughgoing one so surely as the inability to keep him-
self clean in person.

One little incident in the Dog's Home is worth tell-
ing, for it illustrates a trait that is international among
tramps. A kid had in some way offended an older
moocher, and the man was on the point of striking
him, when the Hartford tramp stepped forward and
said : " You would n't hit a kid, would you ? "

The man started back and answered : '' Well, I ort n'
to, I know J but he plagued me like a reg'lar little
divil."

That is a trait in trampdom, and even among
criminals, that I have noticed wherever I have been.
My own case illustrates it also. I am somewhat
smaller than the average man, and I have no doubt
that I have often enough oft'ended some of my cronies ;
but never in all my experience have I had a real row
or been struck by a tramp. I remember once quarrel-
ing with a vagabond until I became very hot-headed.
I was preparing boldly for action, when the great,
burly fellow said: ''I say. Cigarette, if ye 're a-goin'
to fight, I 'm a-goin' to run." Such sentiment is fine
anywhere, and doubly fine when found, as it is so
often, in the life of the vagrant beggar.

From Hull, Ryborg and I walked to York, visiting
nearly every kip-house on the way, as this place is the
best for studying English moochers. In the kip at
Beverley we learned that Mr. Gladstone was always
good for a bob— a statement that I very much doubt ;
for if it had been widely known, the Grand Old Man
would have gone to the workhouse, so numerous are
English beggars. Another story told there was that

240 Tramping with Tramps

of the ^' hawker tramp." He had a little girl with him,
and the two evidently did a very fair business.

'^We 've just come from Edinbro," said the old
man, '^ and altogether we ain't done bad -, but we 'd
been nowhere 'thout the bible.^ You see, nowadays in
England, to beg much of a swag a feller has got to
have some sort of a gag, and the hawkin' gag is as
good as any. We 've had shoe-strings, pencils, buttons,
and lots of other things in stock ; but all the good
they 've done us, and all the good they do any
moocher, is to get him into a house or pub with a
good excuse. "When he 's once in, he can beg good
enough ; and if Robert comes along, he can claim
that he 's simply peddlin'. See ? Besides, I 've got a
license, in order to be safe ; it only costs five bob, an'
is well worth havin'. If you 're goin' to beg much in
these parts, you 'd better git one, too."

This is the " hawkin' gag," and very popular it is, too.
In America it has almost exhausted itself, with all the
other peddling tricks, excepting always the ''mush
faker," or umbrella peddler and mender, and the
''fawny man," or hawker of spurious jewelry. In
England simple and artistic begging is by no means
so well done as in America. The English moocher
has to resort to his " gag," and his " lurks " are almost
innumerable. One day he is a "shallow cove" or
"shivering Jimmy"; another he is a "crocus" (sham
doctor) : but not very often is he a successful mendicant
pure and simple. He begs all the time, to be sure, but
continually relies on some trick or other for success.

1 The " bible " is tramp slang for the hawkei-'s little parcel of
things which he is supposed to peddle.

Two Tramps in England 241

On arriving at York, we went at once to Warmgate,
the kip-house district, and picked out the filthiest kip
we could find. The inmates were principally in pairs ;
each moocher had his Judy (wife), and each little kid
had his little Moll (sister). These children are the
very offspring of the road, and they reminded me of
monkeys. Yet one has to feel sorry for them, since
they did not ask for life, and yet are compelled to
see its meanest and dirtiest side. Their mothers,
when they are not drunk, love them j and when they
are, their fathers have to play mothers, if they are not
drunk themselves. Never in my life have I seen a
more serio-comic situation than in that York kip-
house, where two tramps were rocking their babies
to sleep. Moochers— Bohemians of the Bohemians-
fondling their babies ! I should far sooner have
looked for a New York hobo in clergyman's robes.
But tramping with children and babies is a fad in
English vagabondage.

From this I turned to listen to a very domestic
confab between a Judy and her mate. She had just
washed her face, and made herself really pretty.
Then she sat down on a bench close to her man, and
began to pet him. This bit of discourse followed :

"Just go and get a shave now, Jim. I '11 give you
a wing [penny], if you will, for the doin' o' 't.'^

'' Bah ! What 's the matter uv my phiz, any-
how ? "

"Naw; you doan't look purty. I can't love you
thet way.'^

" Blast yer love, anyhow ! Doan't keep a-naggin' all
the time.*'

242 Tramping with Tramps

" Please, now, git a scrape. I 'm all washed up. You
mought look as decent as I do."

'^ Lemme alone ; I 'm on the brain [I ^m thinking]."

"Well, you mought have me on the brain a little
more than you do. Did n't I git you out o' bein'
pinched the other day 1 "

He looked at her, relented, patted her head, and
went for a shave.

The surprise to me in all this was the genuine wif e-
liness of that Judy. She was probably as degraded
as womankind ever gets to be, and yet she had enough
humanity in her to be really in love.

Just a word here as to tramp companionship in
England. Among the men, although one now and
then sees " mates," he more often meets the male
vagabonds alone, so far as other men are concerned.
Women, too, do not often ally themselves with other
women. But between the sexes partnership is com-
mon ; though seldom long-lived, it is very friendly
while it lasts. The woman is practically the slave of
the man; he is the supposed breadwinner, but the
Judy does more than her share of the begging all the
while.

We went by rail from York to Durham, for there
was little of interest to be found between the two
points. Everywhere it was the cities far more than
the country that furnished the most amusing and
instructive sights. On the train a rather pleasant-
looking man, overhearing our conversation, asked
Ryborg who we were.

" You '11 excuse me," said he, " but your intelligence
does seem a little more valuable than your clothes j

Two Tramps in England 243

and would you mind telling me what you are doing in
England'/"

As he seemed a candid sort of fellow, Ryborg began
very frankly to tell him our mission, and I took up
the story when he was tired. It was difficult for the
stranger to express his astonishment.

" What ! " said he. " Do you mean to say that
you 've left good homes behind you, and are over
here simply to study tramps? What good will it
ever do you ? "

'^ Well," said Ryborg, '^ it 's one way of seeking the
truth."

" I declare, you 're the rummest pair of fellows I Ve
ever seen," he returned ; and he looked after us curi-
ously as we got off the train at Durham.

Here we gave the vagabonds a wide berth, on
account of smallpox; three tramps had been taken
out of a kip-house that very day; so after a night's
rest we moved on to Newcastle, stopping for a few
hours on the way at the dirtiest kip that we found in
England. One of the inmates, a powerful poser as a
bully, was terrorizing an old man.

''I say, granddad, get me a light, will you?
Be sharp, now ! "

Old Man. I 'm too rheumatizin'-like. Caan't you
get it yerself ?

Bully. Naw, I caan't. I waant you to get it.
Hustle, now !

Old Man. I sha'an't do it. I ain't yer Hi Tittle
Ti-Ti, an' I waant you to rec'lect it, too.

BiTLLY. See here, pop ; what date is to-day ?

Old Man. Fifth of March.

244 Tramping with Tramps

Bully. Well, pop, just twelve months ago to-day I
killed a man. So look out !

The old man brought the light.

Newcastle, from the vagabond's point of view,
exists principally in Pilgrim Street. I visited three
kips there, saw eighty-four new faces, and learned
something about the wages of beggars in England.
Four moochers gave me the information. They were
quarreling at the time. Number One was saying:
^^ It 's a lie. I 'd git off the road in a minute ef I could
only beg what you say I can. Ef I hustle I can git
four bob a day, and I 'm willin' to fight that I can,
too."

Number Two said : ^^ You never mooched four bob
in your life ; you knaw you 're happy when you git ten
wing a day. I 'm the only moocher in this 'ouse, an'
I want you to know it. I beg 'xac'ly five bob in eight
hours ; an' ef I begged twenty-four hours, 'ow much 'd
that be?"

Number Three here put in: ^' Tired legs an' 'n
empty stomach."

Number Four : " Keep still, ye bloomin' idjits ! "

None of them could beg over two bob a day, and
they knew it. There are beggars in England who can
average nearly half a sovereign a day, but they are
by no means numerous. Most of them are able to
get about eighteen pence or two shillings; that is
all. '

Our Newcastle friends told us that the road be-
tween there and Edinburgh was not a profitable one.
They claimed that the people were too " clanny-like,"
meaning too stingy. The Durham district they called

A MOOCHEK

Two Tramps in England 247

the " bread and cheese caounty/' while Yorkshire was
the "pie and cake neighborhood." Accordingly, we
took ship for Leith.

A fellow-passenger, half hoosier and half criminal,
made up his mind that I was a crooked man. '' Don't
come near me/' he said; ''you 're a pickpocket, an' I
can feel it."

I said : " How can you tell 1 "

" By your hand-shake and the cut of your phiz."

And throughout the trip he continued to regard me
as a species of bogy-man, while Ryborg he considered
a most reputable traveler. So he was and is ; but he
made some of his most criminal faces on that same
voyage, nevertheless. One of them, I particularly
remember, seemed to say, ''I can't eat, can't sleep,
can't do anything " ; and his under lip would fall in a
most genuine manner. He was often eloquent in his
representations of my ability to pose as a tramp ; but
I am sure that nothing I can do would so quickly throw
even the vigilant off the track as that face of my
companion.

We went into Scotland without any prejudice ; but
we had scarcely been in Edinburgh three hours when
an English roadster tried to make me believe terrible
things of the '' Scotties," as he called the Scotch
tramps. " The Scotties are good enough to mooch
with," said he, '' an' ain't bad people in some ways till
they 're drunk ; an' then they 're enough to make a cat
sick. Why, Yank, they can't talk about anything then
but Bobbie Burns. It 's Bobbie did this, an' Bobbie
did that, till you 'd think the sun did n't rise an' set on

anybody else. I wish the feller had n't ever lived."
u

248 Tramping with Tramps

The poor man had evidently never read Bobbie^s
"Jolly Beggars"; for if he had he would have long
since made a pilgrimage to Ayr.

Edinburgh can almost be reckoned as one of the
best mooching towns in Great Britain, and if I were a
beggar casting about for a life-residence, I think I
should select this beautiful city, and that from my
own personal experience. There is something deli-
ciously credulous in the true citizen, and the university
makes it a specially good place for clothes. Our first
meal in the town we found at a "refuge " in High Street.
We paid a penny apiece for a quart of good thick
soup and half a loaf of bread. It was the largest
quantity of food I have ever had for so little money;
but it should be remembered that it was a charity.
Cheap-restaurant living, in both Scotland and Eng-
land, is more of a theory than a reality. For two-
pence I have had a dinner at a Herberge in Germany
that I could not get in Great Britain for five ; and for
ten cents I have had table d'hote with four courses in
Chicago that I could not get in London for a shilling.

The cheapest restaurants that I know of in the
United Kingdom are the cocoa-rooms ; but a tramp can
live three times as cheaply in the kip-house, if he cooks
his own food. Tramps fully realize this, and it is sel-
dom that they go near a cocoa-room. One old moocher
said to me, when I questioned him on the subject, " I 've
been in them places time and again, but I never get my
stomach's worth in them"— a statement to which I
can add my own similar testimony.

When traveling from Edinburgh to Glasgow, the
tramp has two routes— one by way of Bathgate, the

Two Tramps in England 249

other by way of Linlithgow. Neither of them is a
good begging highway. The people along the road
are, as the German tramp would say, aiisgepumpt.
Nevertheless, it must be traveled afoot, for railway
fares in Great Britain are much too high for the
beggar's purse.

Ryborg and I determined this time to separate, he
going through Bathgate, and I by way of Linlithgow.
In this way we covered more ground, and at the same
time Ryborg had the desired opportunity to play the
tramp alone. His argument for the experiment ran
in this wise : " To save my life, I don't seem to be able
to talk with these beggars more than two minutes at
a time, and I 'm really afraid that I am spoiling your
scheme. You see, if they discover that I am not what
I pretend to be, our work is in danger ; so I '11 try
this trip alone, and see if I can't get a little more into
the tramp spirit." We promised to find each other in
i?ront of the general post-office in Glasgow.

On the whole journey I found but one interesting
moocher, and that a moocheress. She traveled my
way for about two hours, and as she smoked my cig-
arettes she gave me a little of her biography. She
had lived just fifty years, did not know when she
entered trampdom, had no recollection of her parents,
and believed mainly in ''booze," as she called it. She
prided herself on being a fighting woman, as do a
great many of the English Judies.

''Why, I 'm a reg'lar Charley Mitchell," said she,
" when I want to be."

" Would n't you rather be a John L. Sullivan ? " said
I, to test her patriotism.

250 Tramping with Tramps

"Oh, yes, ef I wuz Amerikin; but I 'm English—
I 'm patriotic, I am."

"Then," said I, "you would n't want to be Lackie
Thompson."

"D' you want t' insult me?" said she. "Naw; I
would n' be anything Scot-like."

" How is it, Judy, that you are in Scotland, then ? "

" Oh, I 'm just lookin' fer me mate. I lost him in
Edinburgh, an' 's soon 's I find him, I 'm goin' back to
England." Just before I left her she said : " Tell me
how you draw thet smoke in. I 've heard thet it 's
real good ; but how d' you do it ? "

I told her how to inhale the smoke of a cigarette.
She tried it, choked, and promised herself by all the
gods of her poor heaven never to try it again. Eng-
lish Judies are great smokers, but they use clay pipes,
as a rule.

Glasgow is the best kip town that we found. Its
lodging-houses are known all over Great Britain,
and as soon as I was well within the city I asked for
a " Burns Home." There are several of these in
Glasgow, all belonging to Mr. Robert Burns, who was
once a working-man, but is now a wealthy proprietor.
He built his homes mainly to make money, but also to
furnish poor workmen a cheap and fairly respectable
sleeping-place. I stayed at the Watson Street Home,
and although there were many workmen in the
place, there were also numerous vagabonds. In the
" sitting-room " there must have been about a hundred
and fifty people, and some of them had been loafing
around Glasgow for months. I made friends with one
of these old residents, and he did me some good ser-

Two Tramps in England 251

vice. He bad been in America, bad been well treated
tbere, be said, and so wanted to treat me well. I asked
bim about tbe industrial intentions of the lodgers at
the "borne."

" Well," said be, " it 's hard to tell about all of them
Some of these fellows sit in this room from morn-
ing till night, and never are seen to beg a copper ; yet
they live, too. Others do a little work now and then
as ' sandwich-men,' and other little jobs, while there 's
a few of us do nothing but beg."

" Is Glasgow a good town for moochin' ? " I asked.

"Well, that depends on the moocher. There 's
enough charity here, and some to spare, if you know
how to look for it. I never get over half a crown a
day, but I can tell you a dozen places where you can
get your dinner. Scoff 's always more plenty than
money."

" D' you mind tellin' what 's the main gag in Glasgow
just now, for raisin' money?" I queried still further.

" Well, I think gettin' vaccinated ^s about the best
thing goin' just now."

" What d' you mean ? "

"Well, you see, smallpox 's on the boards; the peo-
ple are scared; bums are likeliest to get the sick-
ness ; so it. 's been arranged that any man who will get
himself vaccinated can have a week's kip free. Some
blokes 've been jagged [vaccinated] two or three times."

This same vagabond did me another good turn down
near the docks. We were walking along a street when
three town tramps came along and guyed my hat.
My companion noticed it, and as I had told him that
I had been considerably martyrized in this way before,

252 Tramping with Tramps

lie turned round sharply on the guyers, and thundered
out:

" Who 're you lookin' at ? Ef you 're tryin' to guy
this Yank, you 'd better stop. Ef you don't, there '11
be a fight."

I said : '' Let 's run, if j^ou really mean that."

" Not much ! I 'm English, you know ; and I can
knock out any Scotchman that comes around, and I 'm
in the mood for 't right now."

The town bums took him at his word, and left. I
said to him : "■ You English fellows seem to have things
pretty much your own way here."

" Yes," he answered ; "■ we English fellers know how
to bluff. We 've been bluffin' the world now for a
good many years."

" You forget the United States," I could not help
interjecting.

^' Beg pardon, Yank 5 beg pardon ! "

Ryborg and I met at the post-office, according to
agreement. He had seen so few tramps along the way
that he was still in doubt as to his abilities. He
remained courageous, however, and I proposed a trip
to Dublin. This meant Irish Sea, no appetite, and
general ill health. But off we sailed to see Ireland.
We stayed nine hours, and then sailed back to Liver-
pool. On the way I saw more of Ireland in a dear old
Biddy than I did in Dublin. She claimed that she
saw Ireland in me also— a discernment truly penetrat-
ing, considering that the Irish in me died out about
two hundred years ago.

In Liverpool our tramp work began again in good
earnest, and I was fortunate in meeting there an old

Two Tramps In England 253

friend— Manchester Charley. We went around the
Horn ^ together a few years ago, and got very well
acquainted, as tramps will on such journeys; but we
did not expect to meet next in Liverpool, though I
knew Charley had left the States for London. He
seemed glad to see me, and yet a little ashamed of me,
too. My shoes were rather played out, and in other
respects, also, I was somewhat below the American
tramp grade. Charley noticed this, and his first greet-
ing was, '' Shall I get you a new pair of shoes ? " I
explained the situation as best I could, but Charley
could not understand how I could " lower myself so."
I told him that I was certainly better dressed than
most of the tramps I had met along the road, whereat
he laughed most scornfully.

^^ Why, Cig," he said, " the fellers you've been bum-
min' with are nothin' but skugees [a species of gay-cat].
You have n't seen a first-class hobo yet, I 'U bet."

That was true, if one takes the American hobo as the
standard, and I admitted it. Then he introduced three
of his companions, saying: ''Here are some of the
real article."

They were very clever-appearing vagabonds, and
very well dressed, too. I acknowledged their vast
superiority as politely as I was able to do, and asked
Charley how it had come about that I had so missed
the genuine beggars, as I had all the while been on the
lookout for them.

1 The Horn is a bit of railway in Iowa, extending from Eed
Oak southward for about twenty miles, then northwest for
twenty more. It is used principally for long trains, as the main
line from Red Oak to Pacific Junction is too hilly.

254 Tramping with Tramps

Charley said: '^ The fact is, there are not many of us
in England. Up at London you '11 find more than
anywhere else, but we ain't anywhere near as strong
as you fellers in the States."

'^Why is this? You certainly ought to be," I
returned.

^' Well," he replied, " this is how it is. The country
is full of these half-and-half bums. They go every-
where, and the people get tired of them ; so when a
really sharp moocher comes along, he has to run his
chance of bein' classed with them chaps— that is, if he
begs at houses. If he does as I do, — sends letters of
introduction,— his luck will probably be better. Here
in Liverpool, for instance, we do fairly well at the
letter racket ; but we could never make a livin' at all
if we had to batter the way most beggars do."

Later in the day Charley explained matters more
fully, and it turned out, as I expected, that he did
"crooked work" also, both he and his comrades. I
said to him at parting: "I could succeed in Eng-
land, too, if I wanted to do that sort of business j but
that is n't legitimate mooching."

" It all depends," he answered. " A tramp ought to
do anything he can, and there 's no feller so able to
dodge the Dee as a bum if he plays the beggar and is
a crook besides."

This is a fact; but still it is not true hoboing or
mooching, this being a beggar only in appearance.
Some men do it constantly, I know; but the real
tramp, wherever he is found, will rarely go into any-
thing outside of begging and cheating. Thieving he
leaves to more experienced hands.

Two Tramps in England 255

Liverpool fairly swarms with the lowest class of
tramps, and we many times voted Manchester Charley's
testimony correct. They live off any one they can
capture, even "visiting brethren/' and are cordially
hated by them.

We planned to separate in our journey to London,
after the manner of our last trip in Scotland. Ryborg
was to take his way through Crewe, Birmingham, War-
wick, and Oxford ; I was to visit Chester, Shrewsbury,
Hereford, Bristol, and Bath. We were to meet at the
end of a week in Reading, and journey on to London
together. My own experiences on the way were very
common. I saw only a repetition of what I had be-
come familiar with in the other parts of England :
"prehistoric gorillas," a few rather clever beggars,
about twenty kip-houses, and more than two hundred
vagrants. Nearly half of them, however, were seeking
work. Two nights I slept in straw-stacks, and each
time I had fully a dozen companions. They called
themselves " free dossers,'' and in one way they were
rather amusing— in fact, a new species of tramp : they
were determined not to spend a copper of what they
begged.

It seems that these fellows start out from London
early in the spring, and batter all summer. In the
autumn they return to London with their swag and
spend the winter in some comfort. On their travels
they either beg what they need or go without. If
they cannot beg a lodging, they sleep in barns, brick-
yards, and straw-stacks ; and from early in March
till late in September they do not squander a single
halfpenny that comes in their way. I had never

256 Tramping with Tramps

before met this variety of vagabond, and I doubt very
much whether they would be allowed to associate
with the real American hoboes 5 for the true tramp
likes more generosity among his fellows, and when he
meets a stingy brother he is likely to give him a wide
berth.

Once in Reading, Ryborg and I met at the appointed
corner, and he gave the following account of himself :

'' In the first place, I had a mean road, and saw but
few vagabonds. I had only three experiences. The
first was not far from Crewe. I was practising to be-
come a beggar, and I tried to smoke a pipe. For a
while I made out very well, and accomplished a lot of
smoke. I thought I should get on well now in kip-
houses. But the second pipe played me a mean trick.
I felt bad all over, and staggered along the road most
unbecomingly for either a gentleman or a beggar. I
gave it up. My second experience was with a crazy
tramp.* He traveled with me for nearly an hour, and
I could find nothing interesting in him except his
habit of wetting his middle finger and rubbing it on
his cheek-bone. This he did constantly ; but though
I questioned him carefully, I could get nothing out of
him. Finally he got angry with me, and leaned up
against a fence till I left him. My last adventure
happened when a workman gave me fivepence. He
tliought I was an honest and unfortunate laborer, and
after we had talked awhile he handed me the money,
saying very politely, ' Perhaps this will help you on
your travels.'"

Our first night in London was spent in a German
Herberge in the East End. The second night we slept

A EEST BY THE WAYSIDE.

Two Tramps in England 259

in a Salvation Army shelter in Whiteehapel Road.
At this last place we paid twopence each for our beds
—boxes, I should say. They look like coffins with no
bottoms except the floor. Yet they are comfortable
enough, considering the price. The blankets are of
leather, and if a man keeps his clothes on he can sleep
warmly enough. On entering the shelter, we went to
the rear of the building, where some of the lodgers
were smoking their pipes and recounting their day's
experiences. Everything was as orderly as possible,
although many of the men were out-and-out vaga-
bonds. I devoted myself to an old man w^ho had a
very bad cough. He spoke kindly of the Salvation
Army, and had only one complaint to make.

'' These Salvationers," said he, '^ forget one thing :
they forget that we men are tired. In the meetings
they want us to sing ^s loud 's ef we 'd just got out of
bed. They say, ' Come on, men ; sing away, be happy
—sing, now ! ' But how 's a m.an goin' to sing after
he 's mooched and walked all day, I should like to
know ? I ain't no enemy of the Salvationers, but I
wish they 'd remember that we get fagged out."

Ryborg and I went into the meeting, and as long
as I live I shall never forget the sincerity of its
leaders. They were not especially wise or delicate,
but they were in earnest all over. One of the
" soldiers " handed us hymn-books, and said, '^ Cheer
up, men ; better times a-comin' " ; and the entire spirit
of the meeting was of the same good fellowship. I
felt then what I had felt often before, that the Salva-
tion Army, in spite of its many mistakes, is, after all,
one of the most consistent agencies for the betterment

26o Tramping with Tramps

of the class it seeks to uplift. The leaders of this
meeting believed in their hearts that we should be
" lost" unless something interposed to " save " us, and
they were determined to save us if they could. In
other words, the Salvation Army actually believes in
hell, and is "hustling" to keep men out of it.

We went to bed about ten o'clock, but I slept very
little. The lodgers coughed nearly all night, and it
was impossible to rest in such a racket ; but as some
of the men said, it was better than sleeping out.

The next two nights of our stay as tramps in Lon-
don were spent in the Notting Hill casual ward, or
" apike," as it is called in tramp parlance. There are
twenty-four of these wards in London, and they are
well scattered over England at large also. Their
object is to afford wanderers a place where they can
get food and lodging for a night or two by earning it.
The usual work required is stone-breaking and oakum-
picking. We had delayed visiting these places until
we should arrive in London, as they are all very
much alike, and we cared for only one experience of
their hospitality. As I knew that this Notting Hill
ward is considered one of the best in all England, we
went there. Two years before I had visited this ward
as a " gentleman." I had a letter from the president
of the Board of Guardians, and I was treated most
kindly. But on this March evening I went in as a
tramp, and, as was to be expected, my treatment was
entirely different.

We appeared at the door of the ward about half -past
seven. A little window was raised, and I stepped
forward to state our business. Unconsciously I

Two Tramps in England 261

leaned against the sill of the window, which offended
the inspector in charge considerably.

" What 's your name ? " he thundered. Still leaning
on the sill, I gave him my name honestly enough. He
then remarked to some person inside that we were not
accustomed to such places, evidently, and called out,
'^ Stand back, will you ! " Back I stood. He cried
out again, ^' Take off your hat ! " My hat came off
instanter. Still again : " You come in here as if you
was a meeleeonary. You 're not ; you 're a casual."
I was as meek as could well be. Ryborg was itching
to grab the inspector with his long arms. The next
question was as to where we had slept the night
before.

" Straw-stack," I replied.

''None of your impudence! You slept out— why
don't you say so ? Have you got any money ? "

'' A ha'penny, sir."

'' Hand it in ! " In it went. Then I had to tell my
trade, which was that of a sailor ; and naturally the
next question was as to where I was bound.

'' To Ameriky, sir, if I can ever get there."

" You 're goin' to tramp it, are n't you 1 "

" Yes, sir j that 's my intention " ; but for the life of
me I could not see how I was to reach America that
way. I was so frightened that I would have told him
anything he wanted.

When he was through with us, a kind-hearted at-
tendant took us in hand, gave us some gruel and bread,
a bath, clean night-shirts, and then a cell apiece, in
which we slept "very well.

As there were only four inmates that morning, we

262 Tramping with Tramps

were needed for the cleaning up, and so escaped stone-
breaking, which I dreaded exceedingly, and were put
at various light occupations— or rather I was. Ryborg
was the victim of his strength. Our breakfast con-
sisted of the same dish as our supper of the night
before. I was soon busy as general fireman, scrubber,
knife-cleaner, coal-carrier, dish-washer, and helper of
my sister-sufferer, Mrs. Murphy, as she washed her task
of towels and shirts. At noon we had pea-soup and
bread. I enjoyed it, but Ryborg did not. The poor
fellow was feeling badly ; he had had to scrub nearly
twenty cells, and the bending over incident to such a
feat had nearly broken his back. At dinner he said
plaintively, " Flynt, I want to go home." '' So do 1,"
I replied ; '' but I fancy we 're wanted here till to-mor-
row morning." This proved to be the case; but he
felt better in the afternoon, and got through com-
fortably, wheeling nearly a ton of stone from some of
the cells to the general pile. He earned his keep, if
ever any poor prisoner did.

I fear I was more shiftless, for about the middle of
the afternoon the attendant who was with me at the
furnace said: "You might as well rest; just keep
your eye on the fires, that 's all." It was kind of him ;
and as I had at least earned my pea-soup and gruel,
I took his advice. He was kinder to me, I think, be-
cause I gave him a corn-cob pipe which he had had to
take away from me the night before. During the day
he had asked me several questions about it, and I said :
" It 's a very decent sort of pipe — coolin'-like, you know."

"Does n't Mark Twain always smoke one o' them
pipes ? " said he.

Two Tramps in England 263

'^ Blest if I know," said I ; '^ but I can well think
it."

" I 'm a great friend of Mark Twain/' he pursued ;
" an' I 'm a-thinkin' o' gettin' one o' them pipes, jest
out of respect for him."

'^Well/' said I, "permit me, in the name of your
respect, to present you with my pipe ] besides, you Ve
got it, anyhow."

He thanked me profusely, and promised to keep it
forever. Later in the day he reported it to be just
as I had said, "sort o' coolin'-like." And he was a
good friend to me all the rest of my stay in the
Notting Hill station.

On Wednesday morning we were turned loose with
our two ha'pennies. We were both so happy that we
decided to get off the road that very day.

We had been tramps for three weeks, and had
walked most of this time fully fifteen miles a day;
so we looked up my friend at the Temple, and in a
few hours were respectable again. That same day I
took my tramp clothes out to the casual ward, and
presented them to my friend the attendant. I had
told him the day before that I expected to get new
togs soon, and he had put in a plea for my old ones.
Good luck to him and them !

Something definite ought to be said here, I think,
regarding the character of the English moocher, and
as Ryborg is new in trampdom, and as his impressions
are likely to be sharper than mine, I have asked him
to write out, in a few words, his general opinion of the
tramps he met in this three weeks' journey.

264 Tramping with Tramps

Most of the tramps we met during our trip in England im-
pressed me as being a trifle insane. There is a pecuHar dull-
ness and lack of nervous energy about them that distinguish
them very noticeably from the working-men. Still, they
have a marked sagacity in getting up tricks to secure their
food and lodging, and in getting out of work. Their life,
together^ with ill-nourishing food, would tend to produce a
mild form of insanity. There is surely a peculiarity about
their mental structure that I have observed nowhere else.

They are fond of philosophizing about themselves, and in
a comical way. One of the worst vagabonds I saw told me
that he considered himself as fine a fellow as any one, and
that he had two brothers who were well-to-do, but he could
not stick to one thing long enough to lay up money. He
said that it never did anybody any good to knock about,
unless his mind was so formed that he could learn by it. He
did not see that he was not the equal of anybody in persever-
ance, and he was not able to understand why it was not con-
sidered very noble to live by begging and by peddling with-
out a license.

Some attribute their pauper condition to a roving disposi-
tion; others lay their misfortunes to a cruel fate; but it is
very evident that the passion for drink is at the bottom of
ninety per cent, of the vagrancy in England.

The tranips do not seem at all discontented or unhappy.
They complained sometimes that people were stingy, but
almost all of them looked well fed. There are a few of them
who really want work, but the majority are not very anxious
for a job. As one of the men in the kip-house said one day,
after there had been a good deal of discussion on the subject :
" Well, there 's more talk about work in this house than
there 's doin' of 't."

Most of the tramps we met were well informed, and fully
half of them had been in America, or the "States," as they
say. They also keep up to the times on political issues and

Two Tramps in England 265

pugilistic and police news. In one of the lodging-houses I
heard the keeper of the place reading the police news of the
week to an interested circle of beggars. I was struck by a
remark of one of the fellows, that the sentence of the court
was not so severe as one culprit had deserved.

They are a very hospitable set to their own kind. I never
entered a kip without a seat being offered to me, and in many
cases they gave me a bowl of tea and a bit of bread. I never
saw any quarreling over the cooking-utensils or the comer
of the fireplace. Though they are without doubt the dirtiest
and the raggedest and the poorest of men, I was everywhere
treated by them with poUteness, so far as they understood
politeness j in fact, they were often far more courteous than
the steamer and other officials under whose charge I came
during the journey.

These conclusions are identical with my own. Ex-
cepting workhouses, casual wards, one or two " ticket
systems," and jails, there seems to be no great amount
of legal machinery for the treatment of vagrancy in
England. The workhouses are places where any one
who can prove that he is penniless may be taken in
indefinitely. The casual ward has already been ex-
plained. The ticket system is simply the issuing of
tickets, at police stations, to vagrants in need of food,
the tickets calling for so much bread, and perhaps a
lodging. Sometimes the ticket must be worked for,
and sometimes it is gratis. The jails are mean places
to get into, the discipline being severe, and work being
exacted of the prisoners.

Sentences for begging range from seven days
upward, but most of the tramps with whom I talked
spoke of seven days as the usual punishment for simple

16

266 Tramping with Tramps

begging, unless the offender could be proved to be an
old stager.

As regards the punishment of the confirmed beggar
in England, there seems to me to be but one thing to
say : it is too slight and trivial. The professional
beggar should be shut up indefinitely. There are
plenty to laugh at this suggestion, I am aware.
Well and good. Just so long as they laugh, the
beggars will laugh also ; and it is my opinion that
the beggars will come out ahead.

rv

THE TRAMP AT HOME

IN an article which appeared in the ^' Con temporary-
Review" for August, 1891, I made a first attempt
to relate some of my experiences in tramp life in
the United States, and endeavored to describe a true
knight of the road. It was a short paper, and there
was a great deal left unsaid that might have been
said, but it was a truthful report as far as it went.
To one intimately acquainted with the hoboes I doubt
whether the article would have seemed inaccurate,
but it was so ."judged by some critics, and a number
of my statements were challenged. Among other
criticisms made, it was said that I had mistaken the
character of the " American tramp " in three particu-
lars : first, his nationality ; second, his numbers ; third,
his unwillingness to work. It was also assumed
that an Englishman was responsible for the supposed
false statements.

I was in New York at the time, and having ten days
at my disposal before leaving for Europe, I decided to
retrace some of my old routes and have another view
of the situation. This chapter is a report of my ex-
periences on the journey, and I have confined myself

.267

268 Tramping with Tramps

to the rehearsal of bare facts without further com-
ment, believing that the reader will moralize and
philosophize whenever necessary.

It was about five o'clock on the afternoon of a cool
September day that I left my friend's home clad as a
tramp, and started for the night boat for Albany. I
wore an old suit of clothes, a flannel shirt, a good pair
of shoes, and a respectable hat. I had paid special
attention to the shoes and hat, for it is a piece of
tramp philosophy that the two extremities of a beggar
are first looked at by the person of whom he is beg-
ging. While riding from Harlem down to the land-
ing-place of the steamer, I laughed to myself while
thinking how the tramps would envy me my nice
head- and foot-gear. I wondered, too, whether I
should be allowed to return with these coverings.

At the ticket-office I paid one of my three dollars
for a ticket on the boat to Albany. I made this heavy
draft upon my slight exchequer because I was afraid
to beat my way on the railroad between the two cities.
I knew of old how roadsters are hated by the residents
of both banks of the Hudson River, and not being at
all sure that I should be successful in making the
journey from New York to Albany in one night as a
^'dead-beat" on a freight-train, I felt safer in buying
a second-class ticket on the steamboat, and beginning
my journey in the morning at Albany.

I fear that the reader would have laughed at my
calamity had he seen me after landing at Albany.
Then I. was a tramp indeed, for the other two dol-
lars had disappeared from my pockets while I was
sleeping with a motley crowd of Italians on some

The Tramp at Home 269

boxes thrown promiscuously about the hold of the
steamboat. There was now no possibility of dilettan-
tism. I had to go head over heels into the beggar's
life. I am glad now that it was so, but for the mo-
ment I was downhearted, for I had leaned on those
two dollars as possible friends if my begging courage
should fail me at the crucial moment. But this was
past, my bridges were burned, so I began my journey
in earnest.

I sauntered lazily over to West Albany, for it was
still early, and arrived as the people were lighting
their breakfast fires. I waited until it seemed that
the fires should have done their duty, and then began.
I visited several houses. Sometimes the man of the
house said that his wife was sick, or that he was out
of work himself ; and sometimes they told me to get
out— that they had already fed one tramp.

My fifth call was at the home of a German woman
who claimed that she had fed beggars in the Father-
land. She invited me in, placed a nice warm break-
fast before me, and then we began a conversation in
German about life, labor, and beggars. She was sorry
for me, and said that I looked too young to be a
beggar. I told her a tale. It was one of those
stories in which the ghost of a truth still Ungers—
such as tramps know so well how to tell. I shall never
know exactly how much of it she believed, or what she
thought of me, as I told her that I was the outcast of
a hochwohlgeboren family in Germany. I know, how-
ever, that she was sympathetic, and that she took me
in, whether she did the same for my romance or not.

After breakfast I stai-ted for Troy. I knew that I

270 Tramping with Tramps

should meet with plenty of loafers during the walk,
and I preferred chatting with them on or near the
highway. For Albany has a penitentiary. There is
not a well-informed tramp in the United States that
does not know about that prison ; it has punished
many a vagrant, and the Albany policemen are no
friends to beggars. Syracuse Tom will bear me out
in this statement, for he winters in Albany with his
kid every yearj but he does this simply because
he is so well posted. Of course other tramps visit
Albany as well, for it is a well-known town for "re-
freshments " ; but only a few can thrive long there by
begging only for money.

On my way to Troy I found a camp of thirty-three
tramps. They were living off the charity of Albany.
They had all been in for breakfast, and were now re-
turned to the hang-out to chat and scheme. Some
were discussing Albany prisons, its policemen, saloons,
and general hospitality. Others had built a fire, and
were boiling their shirts in a borrowed kettle to kill
the vermin. Still others were planning Southern
tours. Some had decided to winter in St. Augustine,
some in Jacksonville, and a few were talking of the
best routes to New Orleans.

One of the fellows recognized me. He must needs
know where I had been so long, and why my hands
were so white. " Cigarette," he said, " have you been
a-doin' time ? Where did you get yer white colors ? "
I told Yorkey that I had been sick, and had been back
on the road only a few days. He would not believe
me, and I am afraid that he took me for a " crooked
man," for he said : '' Gig, you Ve not been in the sick-

The Tramp at Home 271

lugger all this while, and I hain't seen your register
for many a day. No, my young bloke 5 you can't fool
me. You 've been up a tree, and you can't deny it."

I could not convince him of my innocence^ so we
dropped the subject, and I told him that I was bound
for Buffalo, where I had friends who would help me to
brace up and get off the road. I assured him that I
knew now what a foolish business '^bumming" was,
and that I was going to make a grand effort to get work.
Even this he would not believe, and he insisted that I
was going West to some town where I knew that the
tramps were going to have a '^ drunk." He tried to
persuade me to go South with him, and claimed that
Yonkers Slim was going to meet him in Washington
with some money, and that the bums intended to
have a great '' sloppin'-up " (drinking-boiit). I made
him understand that I was determined to go West.
Then he gave me some advice which was typical.

'^ Young feller, you 're goin' to a pretty poor coun-
try. Why, when I left Buffalo two weeks ago, the
bulls [police] were more than pinchin' the tramps right
in the streets, and givin' them ninety days. The only
decent thing about a journey up that way is the New
York Central Railroad. You can ride that to death.
That 's the only godsend the country has. Jes let me
tell you, though, what towns it cuts through, and then
you '11 squeal. Now, there 's Schenectady. You can
chew all right there, but divil a cent can you beg.
Then comes Fonda, and you must know what a poor
town that is. Then you 've got Utica, where you can
feed all right, for any fool can do that, but you can't
hit a bloke for a dime in the streets without a bull

272

Tramping with Tramps

seein' you and cliuckin' you up for fifty-nine days in
Utica jail. And you must know well enough what
that jail is this time o' year— it 's jes filled with a
blasted lot o' gay-cats [men who will work] who 've
been on a booze. After Utica there 's Rochester, a
place that onc't was good, but is n't worth pawnin'
now since that gay-cat shot a woman there some time
ago. After Rochester, what you got ? Buffalo— the
most God-forsaken town a bum ever heard of."

Here I interrupted my lecturer to say that I had
heard of Buffalo as a good ^^ chewing town." He
turned upon me fiercely. '^ What d' you want? D'you
only want to chew? Don't you want boodle, booze,
togs, and a good livin'? Of course you do, jes like
ev'ry genooine hobo. It 's only a blasted gaj^-cat
that '11 fool around this country now. Cig, you 'd bet-
ter come South with us. Why, las' year the blokes
more than sloughed in money around the Ponce de
Leon Hotel in St. Aug'stine. We kin git there in a
week if we ride passenger-trains. You '11 hustle for
an overcoat if you stay here much longer, an' I '11 bet
my Thanksgivin' dinner that every bloke you meet up
the road is bound South. You ^d better foller their
coat-tails." I thanked Yorkey, but satisfied him that
I was determined to get to Buffalo. ^' Well, so long,
Cigarette," he said, when I left the camp for Troy.

Between Troy and Cohoes I found another camp of
tramps. Here were forty-two men and boys who were
enjoying what tramps term a " sloppin'-up." Some of
them had just returned from the hop-country, and had
gathered together the fellows in their vicinity, and
were now drinking keg after keg of beer. Thirteen

The Tramp at Home 273

kegs had already been emptied. These men seemed
well satisfied with their treatment around Troy, and
the majority of them had been there for nearly a week.
One half -drunken loafer from Milwaukee was so anx-
ious to praise the town's hospitality that he was ha-
ranguing some of his comrades most zealously. '^ I 'v^e
boozed around this town," he said, '' off and on for the
last seven years, and I 've not been sloughed up yet.
There 's only one or two bulls in the town that 's after
tramps, and if a bloke is anyway foxy he can slip them
all right. Two years ago I fooled around here for two
months, and had my three square meals every day,
and booze too, and I was never touched. You can't
hustle pennies, o' course, as well as you can down in
the City [New York], but you can batter for clothes,
chuck, and booze all right enough. I know as many
as ten. saloon-keepers in the town that '11 give me a
drink and ask no questions. Yes ; Troy 's all right,
and it 's only a rotten gay-cat that 'u'd say it wa'n't.
The only mean thing about the town is that it 's slow.
Us hoboes must be on the march, and it 's not in us to
fool round a jerk town like this 'un too long. It 's tire-
some, blokes."

A hunt for supper in Cohoes afforded me a great
deal of amusement, for I was entertained by an alder-
man's wife. At any rate, she told me, while I was
eating my supper in the large restaurant dining-room,
that her husband, eating his supper in a private room
on the floor below, was a village father and a hater of
tramps. '^ But don't worry," she said ; '' he shall not
bother you while I 'm around. I always feed a hungry
man, and I always shall. I can't understand how some

274 Tramping with Tramps

people can turn away from the door any one who
claims to be hungry. If I should do this, I would ex-
pect to be hungry myself before long." A freight-
train passed by the house while I was at the table, and
my hostess noticed my anxiety to be aboard of it.
" Never mind," she said ; " there '11 be plenty of freights
along a little later, and this is a good place to catch
them, for there is a grade here,xind you can keep away
from the station, where you might be arrested." I
remembered this woman throughout my journey, and
every tramp that I met bound in this direction was
advised of her house. I think it would hardly be so
good another year.

From Cohoes to Schenectady is only a short ride,
and it seemed as if I had been asleep in the box-car
only a few minutes when Ohio Red, who was with me,
cried out, '^ Cigarette, we 're in the yards ; let 's get
out." We slept in a box-car overnight. This is an odd
way of resting. The coat, vest, and shoes are taken off,
then the shoes are made into a pillow, the vest is laid
over them, and the coat is thrown oTcr the shoulders.
So sleep most of the tramps during the warm months.

After an early breakfast, we went over to the hang-
out on the eastern side of the town. Thirteen rovers
were already there, cooking a conventional meal. They
had begged meat, potatoes, bread, and coffee, and had
stolen some other vegetables, besides a kettle, and
were now anxiously watching the fire. Two more
vagrants, who had been looking for cigar-stubs in the
town, came in later. Their pockets were well filled,
and they divided equally their findings. This " snipe "
chewing and smoking is the most popular use of to-

- C^-/. W N^

The Tramp at Home 277

bacco in trampdom, and is even preferred to '' store
brands " of the weed, which are easily begged. About
dinner-time a man came out to the camp, and offered
every one of us the job of shoveling sand for a dollar
and a half a day, the work to continue into November.
He might better have stayed away. The tramps told
him that they had just left as good a job as that in
Buffalo, and were now looking for three dollars a day !
At nightfall sixteen tramps, including myself,
boarded a freight-train bound west. I was now on
the main line of the New York Central, and had no
further need to fear any large amount of walking.
During the night ride I had an interesting talk with the
brakeman at my end of the train. I was in a " gondola "
(open car), and he espied me from the top of a box-
car, and came down. "Hello, young fellow! "he said.
" Where are you travelin' to ? " " Just up the road a bit,
boss," I answered. '^ Well, let 's go to the other end
of the car, where we won't catch the cinders ; I 've got
one in my eye now filin' it to pieces. Can you take it
out, d' you think ? " he asked. I held his lantern on my
arm, and looked for the cinder, which was soon out.
Just then the train whistled for Fonda, and the brake-
man said : " You want to lay low here, for there 's a
watchman in the yards. I '11 bring you a bit to eat
out of my pail after we pull out." He returned, when
we were again started, with a parcel of food, and
began to speak of the towns up the road. " Utica,"
he said, " if you intend gettin' your breakfast there in
the mornin', is sort of a snide place, this time of the
year. You see, the hop-pickers are around there, and
the police always arrest a lot of 'em, and you fellows

278 Tramping with Tramps

are likely to be jugged too. This town tliat we 've
just left, however, is the meanest one on the road.
I was comin' through here about a week ago, and
did n't know there was a bum on the train. The
watchman scouted around, and found three of 'em in
a box-car, and yanked 'em all up. If I 'd known they
were round, I 'd 'a' posted 'em about this town, but I
had n't an idea they were there. I hate to see a lad
get pulled for ridin' a train, because I 've been broke
myseK, and I know what it is to be on the road. I '11
always carry a man on my train if I can. But of course
you know that sometimes the con [conductor] is a
mean devil, and we can't do anything that '11 give him
a grudge ag'in' us ; if he should see a bum on the train,
he might report us. So you see what risks we run.
But I 've given many a lad a ride, and I 'm always
willing to be square to a square plug [fellow]." This
is a typical kind-hearted Eastern brakeman, and the
tramps like him.

In Utica I made the acquaintance of a roadster
called '^ Utica Biddy." I met him at the tramp camp
just outside of the town, near the R., W. & O.R.R. tracks,
where twenty-six other loafers were waiting for three
of their fellow-travelers to return from the hop-coun-
try, in order to help spend their money. Biddy is one
of the best-known tramps on the New York Central,
and he gave me more information about the districts
around Syracuse and Utica than I could possibly have
accumulated single-handed. While riding in a box-car
from Utica to Syracuse we had a long conversation,
and the following is the substance of what he told me :

^' I 've been a bum on the division of this railroad

The Tramp at Home 279

from Albany to Syracuse for the last four years. I 've
had my three squares every day, and in winter I Ve
had a bed every night. I know you '11 hardly believe
this, for some of you beggars come up to this country
and curse it because you don't get on the spot what
you w^ant. Now, I '11 give you a few pointers about
these towns. We 've just left a town [Utica]
where I can go to over a score of houses and get a
square meal whenever I want it. Of course I was born
there, and that may make a bit o' difference, but I can
do the same in Rome, Albany, and Syracuse. I Ve
been on this beat so long and have watched my
chances so carefully that I know now just where to go
when hungry. I hear a great many tramps kick about
Utica, its policemen and snide houses. But if a lad
will just knuckle down for a month or so and hunt
out the good houses, make himself acquainted with
the tough policemen and keep out of their way, find
good barns for a doss at night, and make a business
of bummin' carefully, there 's not a town on the
Central that ain't good. The trouble with you
strange blokes is this : you come up here, booze, draw
your razors when you 're drunk, do too much crooked
work, and o' course the people get hostile. Why, see
how many lads are workin' my racket over in Penn-
sylvania. You know yourself that on the Pennsy
[Pennsylvania Railroad] line there are tramps who not
only bum within a division, but inside of subdivisions,
and can chew whenever they like. But they do this
'cause they 're foxy and have had their boozin' knocked
out of them. Now, those lads that we left back in
Utica will more than likely get sloughed into jail when

28o Tramping with Tramps

they get to boozin'. You can't expect the people to
stand such stuff as that. And these are the kind of
fellows, too, who jigger our ridin' on this railroad.
They get drunk, and if they want to ride and can't find
an empty car, they break a seal [a car Seal], and then
there 's the devil to pay about the tramps tryin' to
rob the cars. If the bums would only keep sober once
in a while, there would n't be a tramp pinched once
a month. The bulls around here don't care to yank
a tramp unless they have to. But what can they do
when they find a bloke paradin' the streets with a jag
on? They pull him in, o' course, or else the people
would kick. I '11 gamble that he would n't be touched,
though, if he were simply huntin' a meal."

In Syracuse, Biddy, in order to prove his acquain-
tance with the town, told me of a house where I was
certain of getting something to eat. I followed his
instructions, and got exactly what I went for— a good
dinner. The great excitements in Syracuse, I found,
were a big drunk and the State fair. I have never
seen such a number of tramps together at one time.
Between De Witt and Syracuse there was a camp of
fifty, and there were twenty empty beer-kegs lying
around in the grass. Some of the fellows were sick,
others had sick clothes, and many of the rest were in
fine shape for a free fight. There were two well-
dressed tramps whom I immediately recognized as
"fawny men"— fellows who sell bogus jewelry for
more than it is worth. One of these men was a notori-
ous roadster of American birth, who, for purposes best
known to himself, went by the name of '' Liverpool
George." He is the most successful fawny man that I

The Tramp at Home 281

have ever met. He earned twenty-two dollars in one
day at the fair by selling for two dollars apiece rings
which can be bought in Buffalo for two dollars a dozen.
The tramps call this worldly success.

Before I left Syracuse there came to the camp an-
other batch of tramps numbering sixteen. They had
just returned from the hop-country, and their money
was well poised for another ^' shot at the growler."
During my stay of three days at the camp and vicinity,
the men were intoxicated almost all the time. They
would even go into town half drunk to look for some-
thing to eat. Yet I heard of no arrest while I was
there. About a mile from the hang-out, and east of
Syracuse, there were two barns in which the tramps
slept. It was most amusing to see the loafers return-
ing to their nests in the hay-loft night after night.
Sometimes I listened to comical tales until the early
hours of the morning. I was also the spectator of a
number of fights. One particular barn where I spent
two nights, near Syracuse, was a regular arena for
fisticuffing and squabbling. The men were so cross
and ill-tempered after their recent galas that they
would quarrel on the slightest pretext. One fellow
gave his companion a black eye because he told him
that he " ought to hustle better togs" (clothes). An-
other poor excuse for a knock-down was that a fel-
low had said that ^Hramps were bughouse" (crazy).

The journey from Syracuse to Buffalo was very
prosaic. I rode from Syracuse to Rochester with a
kid and two colored tramps. The boy was in search
of his '^jocker," or protectoi-, whom he had lost in
Albany. From various registries at watering-tanks,

282 Tramping with Tramps

he expected to find him in Canal Street, Buffalo. At
Port Byron a female tramp, with her companion, Mil-
waukee Jim, entered the box-car in which we were
riding. I learned from him that I must be very care-
ful in my conduct at Rochester. I decided to leave
the town as quickly as possible after arrival. On the
eastern outskirts of the place I met a gang of twenty-
three tramps walking to Fairport, ten miles distant,
in order to escape any possible arrest in the Rochester
railroad yards while catching a freight-train bound
east. Between Rochester and Churchville I found
still another frightened crowd numbering twenty-
seven. They were waiting for nightfall before enter-
ing the city to board a train for Albany.

The kid continued with me on the journey to Buf-
falo, and I enjoyed a talk with him in the car about
his life on the road and what inducements it offered.
He was only sixteen j^ears of age, but as bright and
well versed in tramp lore as many an aged roadster.
He became interested in tramp life in the Illinois Re-
formatory. Some of his companions at the school,
who had been with tramps, told him of their experi-
ences, and he never rested until he had satisfied him-
self with his own. ^' It ain't such a bad lot," he said ;
'■'■ I chew every day, get a big swag of booze once in
a while, and when I 'm travelin' with Slim [his pro-
tector] I have a purty excitin' time." The boy found
his man in Canal Street, just as he had expected.

Buffalo did not interest me. There was nothing
new in the tramp line. I counted sixty-seven road-
sters, and found that there was plenty to eat and drink
and a little money also, if looked for very diligently

ASLKEP IN A KREIGHT-CAR.

The Tramp at Home 285

in the main streets and offices ; but there was nothing
unique. My journey, when I arrived in Buffalo, had
extended over three hundred miles (from Albany). I
had had three meals every day, excepting the loss of
a dinner while traveling from Rochester to Buffalo,
and I had met three hundred tramps, who had prob-
ably had their meals just as frequently as I had had
mine. This number does not include, of course, those
who may have been traveling behind or before me, so
that, not counting men who were certainly on the
road, but out of my sight, here was a voluntary va-
grant for every mile of the road between Albany and
Buffalo. Further, I did not see a train going west on
the Central Railroad that was not carrying at least
one tramp, and I often saw a car passing by which
appeared simply alive with dead-beats. The reader
must remember withal that New York State is by no
means such good tramp territory as certain other
States. Pennsylvania supports three times as many
vagrants as New York will tolerate.

Two extenuating statements ought to be made. In
the first place, the Central Railroad is a very easy one
to beat, and probably half of the tramps that I met
were " residents " of other States. Secondly, a great
many tramps loaf around the hop-country in the
vicinity of Syracuse and Utica during the early au-
tumn, in order to drink at the expense of the too
light-hearted hop-pickers. The nationality of these
men, so far as I could judge from pronunciation, some
of their own statements, and their professional names,
was almost entirely American. I met one German
loafer called " Dutchy," and he was the only recog-

16

286 Tramping with Tramps

nized foreigner that I found. The others may have
had parents born in other countries, but they them-
selves were certainly Americanized. A good test of
a tramp's nationality is his professional name. For
every genuine hobo couples the name of his birthplace
with whatever other name he chooses, and the reader
will find, if he wiU visit watering-tanks or other avail-
able stationary railway property in his vicinity, like
section-houses, shanties, etc., where tramps "sign,"
that the names registered there indicate, in the
great majority of cases, a birthplace in the United
States.

My return journey to New York is worthy of com-
ment only because its quick performance may possi-
bly interest the reader. I was desirous of learning
how quickly a tramp can make a journey if he desires ;
and it being to my interest to be in New York at an
early date, I decided to forego any specific study of
tramp life on the Erie Railroad and simply to hurry
over its tracks, if haste should prove possible. I left
Buffalo for New York on the night of the 16th, and
arrived on the morning of the 19th, although I took
a very circuitous route. I traveled from Buffalo to
Corry, Pennsylvania, over the W. N. Y. & P. R. R., and
from Corry I rode to Binghamton over the Erie road.
From this place I made a detour to Voorheesville,
and then down the West Shore route to Weehawken,
in order to confirm certain rumors that I had heard
of its hostility to tramps. The entire trip was very
tiresome and difficult, because, in order to travel
rapidly, I was compelled to ride on top and on
the bumpers of freight-trains, and on the trucks

The Tramp at Home 287

of passenger-trains. My companion, Pennsylvania
Wliitey, and I rode after the latter fashion from
Elmira to Binghamton. It was a terrible ride. We
made the mistake of getting on the trucks of the
rear car— a Pullman sleeper— instead of a baggage-
car. In doing this we suffered almost beyond de-
scription. The gravel and dust flew about our faces
until the exasperation and pain were fearful. When
I arrived in Binghamton my eyes were filled with
dust, and I suffered with them for days after I ar-
rived in New York. There are tramps, principally
in the W^est, who are much more skilful truck-riders
than I can claim to be. But then they have to excel
in this mode of traveling, or they could not get over
the country. In the far West the brakemen have
no scruples about throwing tramps off freight-trains.
In the East more civilized customs prevail, and the
t tramp is politely asked to '^ jump off after the train
has stopped." Because railroad civilization is so back-
ward in the West, the tramps have invented a seat
which greatly aids their truck-riding. They call it
a ''ticket," but it is simply a small piece of board, with
two cleats nailed on one side, which fit over a rod
and keep the seat firm. Some of these tickets are
quite elaborate, and are made to fold into a coat
pocket.

The journey from Yoorheesville to Weehawken
proved interesting. My friend Whitey and I left
Voorheesville for Coeyman's Junction on a local
freight-train. We were on a flat-car, and entirely
open to view, but were not once molested. During
the ride I got a cinder in my eye, which my compan*

288 Tramping with Tramps

ion could not find. The pain was intense, and when
we stopped next at a small station we jumped off in
order that Whitey might inspect it more conveniently.
He was still unsuccessful, and the station-master,
standing b}^, beckoned me toward him and offered to
take the cinder out, which he did very skilfully. The
train was just ready to start when he called out,
^' Boys, don't miss your train." We followed his
advice.

From the Junction down to Weehawken we under-
went many trials. We left Coeyman's with fifteen
other tramps on a through freight- train. All of us
were huddled together on a flat-car, and of course
the brakeman saw us. After finding out that none of
us had any money to give him in aid of his collection
for a '^pint" (of whisky), he said: ''You lads want
to look out at Kingston. It 's all right until Catskill,
but you '11 get collared at Kingston unless you 're
careful." The minute the train slackened its speed at
the hostile town, the roadsters jumped off en masse.
Whitey suggested that we separate from the crowd,
run around to the other end of the railroad yards, and
catch the train again when it came out. We arrived
there just in the nick of time, and rode away again
triumphant. The next stop was Newburg, and just
before we arrived the brakeman again warned us.
'' Look out here/' he said, from the top of a car ; " if
you get pinched here, you 're sure for the Albany
pen." We left the train again, and manoeuvered in
the same way as at Kingston. Again we traveled
on without fear until nearing Haverstraw, and then
came that same warning from the top of a car:

The Tramp at Home 289

'' Look out, you lads down there on the bumpers ;
Ilaverstraw is a hostile town." This was sickening.
I had not complained before, but now I told Whitey
that if ever I arrived in Weehawken safely I should
forever forbid myself to tramp near the Hudson
River. We were eventually successful in passing
Haverstraw, and then the brakeman assured us that
there was a safe route into Weehawken. His words
proved true, and we arrived there at three o'clock in
the morning. The puzzling question that I put to
Whitey now was how to get over to New York with-
out a cent of money. He told me not to worry, and
that he would ^'work it all right." He spoke the
truth, for we slipped into the ferry-house from the
West Shore Railroad yards, and so eluded the sleepy
gate-keeper. When we were on the ferry-boat I noticed
four more tramps that I had met in Syracuse, and of
course there was a general laugh.

On landing at Jay Street, Whitey asked me where I
was going. I told him that I was afraid we must part
company, and that I should have to walk up to Har-
lem. '^ I hate to see you do that," he said. '' for it 's ag'in'
the tramp natur' to like to hear of drilling [walking].
If you '11 wait for me up here on Broadway, I '11 go over
to the post-office and hustle your car-fare." I thanked
him, and waited on a corner for about five minutes,
when, true enough, he returned with sufficient money
for car-fare and slight refreshments over in the Bow-
ery together. '^ Whitey, so long," I said ; '• be good
to yourself." " So long. Cigarette ; hope I '11 see you
again." I left him standing in front of the Old Tree
House, our ways henceforth forever separate, but as

290 Tramping with Tramps

kindly sentiments inliabiting our bosoms as ever fell
to the lot of knights of the road.

For every voluntary vagrant there is a voluntary
taxpayer, and in the persons of these three hundred
tramps I met three hundred voluntarily taxed citizens
of the State of New York

THE TRAMP AND THE RAILROADS

FIVE years had elapsed since my last journey
with the hoboes— indeed, since I had so much as
seen them. Study and recreation took me to Europe
in the autumn of 1893, and I did not return to this
country till the spring of 1898. Newspaper clippings
containing accounts of the movements of the hoboes,
and stories about their life, occasionally reached me,
and once there came an invitation to be present at an
Anti-Tramp Congress, but beyond this I heard very /
little about my old companions of the road. I always
thought of them, however, when I saw the European
vagabond trudging along on the public turnpikes,
and wondered whether they were still permitted to
travel on the railroads in their " side-door Pullmans "
(box-cars) as they had done, and as they taught me
to do when I was among them. In eastern Prussia I
once stopped to talk with a foot-sore old wanderer on
the Chaussee, and told him of the way the American
tramp travels. " Ach, how beautiful that must be ! "
he exclaimed. " And to think that they would prob-
ably hang us poor fellows here in the Fatherland
if we should try to ride in that fashion ! In truth,

291

292 Tramping with Tramps

son, a republic is the only place for the poor and
outcast."

There had been rumors, while I was still on the
road, that a day of reckoning was coming between the
railroad companies and the tramps, and that when
it arrived, the hobo, like the ChausseegrahentapezireVj
would take to the turnpikes. Life in Hoboland is so
precarious that it comes natural to the inhabitants to
be on the watch for impending catastrophes, and I
remember that I also believed that the railroad com-
panies would eventually stop free riding as the tramp
practised it. It did not seem natural that a class of
people with so little influence as the tramps should be
allowed to enjoy such a privilege long ; and although
I learned to ride in freight-cars with as much peace
of mind and often more comfort than in passenger-
coaclies, there was always something strange to me in
the fact that I never bought a ticket. During my
first trip in Hoboland, which lasted eight continuous
months, I must easily have traveled over twenty thou-
sand miles, and there were not more than ten occa-
sions during the entire experience when any payment
was demanded of me, and on those occasions the
'^ medium of exchange" consisted of such things as
pipes, neckties, tobacco, and knives. Once I had to
trade shoes with a brakeman merely to get across the
Missouri River, a trip which ordinarily would have
cost me but ten cents ; but as that was the very sum
of which I was short, and the brakeman wanted my
shoes, the only thing to do was to trade.

Had any one told me, as I was leaving Europe, that
a week after my arrival in this country I should be

The Tramp and the Railroads 293

"hitting the road" again, I should not have believed
him. Civilization had become very dear to me in the
interval that had elapsed since my last tramp trip,
and it seemed to me that my vagabond days were
over.

Once a vagabond, however, like the reserve Prus-
sian soldier, a man can always be called on for duty ; ^ /
and it was my fate, a few days after setting foot in
my native land again, to be asked by the general
manager of one of our railroads to make a report to
him on the tramp situation on the lines under his con-
trol. For three years he had been hard at work
organizing a railroad police force which was to rid the
lines under his control of the tramp nuisance, and he
believed that he was gradually succeeding in his task ;
but he wanted me to go over his property and give an
independent opinion of what had been done. He had
read some of my papers in the '^ Century " on tramp
life, and while reading them it had occurred to him
that I might be able to gather information for him
which he could turn to good account, and he sent
for me.

" On assuming management of these lines," he said
to me in the conversation we had in his office, " I found
that our trains were carrying thousands of trespassers,
and that our freight-cars were frequently being robbed.
I considered it a part of my business as a general
manager to do my utmost to relieve the company of
this expense, and I felt that the company owed it to
the public to refuse to harbor this criminal class of
people. In a way a railroad may be called the chief
citizen of a State, and in this tramp matter it seemed

294 Tramping with Tramps

to me that it had a duty as a citizen to discharge to
the State.

'' There are three conspicuous reasons that have de-
terred railroad people from attacking the tramp prob-
lem. First, it has been thought that it would entail
a very great expense. Our experience on these lines
has shown that this fear was not warranted. Second,
it has been thought that no support would be given
the movement by the local magistrates and police
authorities. Our experience shows that in a great
majority of cases we have the active support of the
local police authorities and that the magistrates have
done their full duty. Third, it was feared that there
might be some retaliation by the tramps. Up to date
we have but very little to complain of on that score.
From the reports that I get from my men, I am led to
believe that we are gradually ridding not only the
railroad property, but much of the territory in which
it is situated, of the tramp nuisance ; but I should like
a statement from you in regard to the situation, and
I want to know whether you are willing to make a
tramp trip and find out for us all that you can."

It was a cold, bleak day in March when we had this
conversation, and there was ever}^ inducement to post-
pone a journey such as the general manager sug-
gested ; but I was so impressed with his seriousness in
the matter, and so thoroughly interested in what he
had done, that I agreed to begin the investigation at
once. It seemed to me that a man who had written so
r/ much about the tramp problem ought to be willing to
do what he could to help the community solve it, es-
pecially when he was to be reimbursed for his work

laniNc ox Tin; lUMri-Ks.

The Tramp and the Railroads 297

as liberally as I was to be ; and although I suffered
more on this particular journey than on any other
that I have made, I shall never regret having under-
taken it.

Before starting out on my travels a contract was
drawn up between the general manager and myself.
It secured to me a most satisfactory daily wage, and
to the general manager weekly reports as long as I
was out on the road, wdth a final statement when the
investigation should be finished.

On no previous journey in Hoboland have I been
such an object of curiosity to the tramps as on this
one when writing my weekly reports. I was dressed
so badly that I could write them only in lodging-
houses where vagabonds sojourn, and it usually took
me a full half -hour to finish one. It availed nothing
to pick out a quiet corner, for the men gathered about
me the minute they thought I had written enough,
and they thought this before I was half through. If
they had been able to decipher my handwriting I
should probably have received pretty harsh treatment,
but as they were not, they amused themselves with
funny remarjks. "Give 'er my love," they said.
'^Writin' yer will, are ye. Cigarette?" "Break the
news gently." And they made other similar remarks
which, if I h^d not been forced to write, would have
smothered any literary aspirations that a lodging-
house is capable of arousing. As it was, I managed
to send in my reports more or less regularly, and
faulty though they must have been, they served their
purpose.

They told the story of the tramp situation on about

298 Tramping with Tramps

two thousand miles of railroad property, situated in
five different States. The reports of the first month
of the investigation pertained to tramps on lines in
the neighborhood of the property I was investigating.
I had not been an hour on m}'' travels when it was
made very plain to me that my employer's police force
was so vigilant that it behooved me not to be caught
riding trains unauthorized on his lines. Every tramp
I met warned me against this particular road, and
although a clause in my contract secured me the pay-
ment by the company of all fines that might be im-
posed upon me as a trespasser, as well as my salary
during imprisonment, in case I should find it useful
for my purposes to go to jail, I found it more con-
venient for the first month to wander about on rail-
roads which I knew tramps could get over. I rea-
soned that the experience was going to be hard enough
anyhow, without having to dodge a railroad police
officer every time I boarded a train, and I knew that
the trespassers on neighboring lines would be able to
tell me what was the general opinion in regard to
my employer's road as a tramp thoroughfare. All
whom I interviewed spoke of it as the hardest railroad
in the United States for a tramp to beat, and I could
not have learned more of the tramps' opinion of it had
I remained exclusively on the property. The roads
that I went over crossed and recrossed my employer's
road at a number of places, and I was frequently able
to see for myself that it is a closed line for trespassers.
It may interest the reader to know how I lived dur-
ing the time I traveled as a tramp. Except on one
occasion, when my funds gave out, I paid my way

The Tramp and the Railroads 299

regularly so far as food was concerned. A friend
sent me a postal order for a few dollars nearly every
week, and I managed to live rather comfortably at
lodging-house restaurants. Occasionally I would meet
a pal of former years, and if he had money, or
found that I had, nothing would do but we should
celebrate meeting each other again, and at such times
my friend in the East got word that my remittance
must be hurried up somewhat ; but, as a general thing,
I dined fairly well on two dollars a week. For sleep-
ing-quarters I had bunks in lodging-houses, benches in
police stations, and '^ newspaper beds" in railroad
sand-houses. I chose one of these places as circum-
stances suggested. If there was nothing to be gained
in the way of information by going to a sand-house or
a police station, I took in a lodging-house, if one was
handy. Once I slept in the tramp ward of a poor-
house, and never had I spent a more disagreeable
night. A crowd of tramps to which I had attached
myself had used up their welcome in a town where
there were three police stations, and it had been ar-
ranged that on the night in question we should all
meet at the tramp ward of the poorhouse. A negro
was the first one to get there, and a more frightened
human being than he was when the rest of us put in an
appearance it would be hard to imagine. We found
him in a cold cellar, absolutely without light and
furnished with nothing but an immense bench, about
four feet wide, four feet high, and ten feet long. In
Siberia itself I have never seen a gloomier hole for
men to pass a night in.

" I turned up here 'bout five o'clock," the negro said,

300 Tramping with Tramps

^''n' they sent me to the smokin'-room, where them
luny blokes was smokiii' their pipes. I never knew
before that they sent luny people to poorhouses, 'n' I
could n't understan' it. I told one of 'em what I was
there for, 'n' he told me that this cellar down here has
ghosts in it. Well, o' course, I ain't 'feard o' ghosts in
most places, but, by jiniiny, when the keeper came 'n'
put me down here 'n' left me in the cold 'n' dark, some-
how or other I got to thinkin' o' that luny bloke's
stories, 'n' I jus' had to holler. W'y, I never felt so
queer before in my life. Suppose I 'd gone crazy;
w'y, I could 'a' sued the county for damages, could n't
I? Don't you ever soogest any more poorhouses to
me ; I don't wonder people goes crazy in 'em." When
the crowd first saw the negro he was shouting at the
top of his voice : " Spirits ! spirits ! There 's spooks
down here ! "

We all spent a most miserable night in the cellar,
and I doubt whether any one of us would willingly
seek shelter there again.

Indeed, when the first month of my investigation
was over, and war had been declared with Spain, it
seemed to me that I had gone through so much and
was so hardened that I could go to Cuba and worry
through all kinds of trouble. I have since regretted
that I did not go, but, at the time, I had become so
interested in the work that, when I returned to my
employer for further orders, and he said to me,
^'Well, now that you have satisfied me in regard to
the attitude of the tramp toward the company's prop-
erty, suppose you satisfy yourself concerning the at-
titude of the company toward the tramp," I readily

f<K

'^

>>

'^ University vv

of
V% Toronto

The Tramp and the Raihoads 301

fell in with the suggestion. To make my final report
complete it was obvious that I ought to get an insight
into the workings of my employer's police force, and
for the second month he gave me permission to travel
on freight- trains, engines, and passenger-trains, and a
letter introducing me to the different employees of the
company with whom I was likely to come in contact.
With these credentials I was able to circulate freely
over the property, to inquire minutely into the work
of the police department, to meet the local magistrates,
and particularly the jail- and workhouse-keepers. It
was also possible for me to make an actual count of
the trespassers who were daring enough to attempt to
travel on this closed road.

This work was not so tedious and dangerous as that
of the first month, and there were more comforts to
be enjoyed; but I had to be up at all hours of the
night, and the bulk of my time was spent in train-rid-
ing. After thirty days of almost constant travel I
was convinced, first, that the tramps had told the truth
about the road, and that it is exceedingly difficult to
trespass on it with impunity; second, that although
the police force is not perfect (none is), it was doing
exceptionally good work in freeing the community of
tramps and beggars. It differs from ordinary rail-
road police forces in that it is systematically organized
and governed. In dealing with tramps and trespass-
ers the plan is to keep up a continuous surveillance of
them, and they are taken off trains one by one, day
after day, rather than in squads of fifty and sixty,
with no more effort in this direction for weeks and
sometimes months, as is the prevailing custom on

/

302 Tramping with Tramps

most railroads. There is consequently very little
crowding of magistrates' courts and jails, and the
taxpayers are not forced to board and lodge a great
collection of vagabonds. I was also impressed with
the fact that the force is on friendly relations with
municipal and village police organizations along the
road, and has the respect of communities formerly at
the mercy of a constantly increasing army of hoboes.

So much for my personal experience and finding in
this latest investigation in '' trampology"} it was as
interesting a tramp trip as I have ever made, and I
learned more about the best methods to employ in
attacking the tramp problem in this country than on
any previous journey. It is now my firm belief that,
if the tramps can be kept off the railroads, their
organization will become so unattractive that it will
never again appeal to men as it has done in the past.
No other country in the world transports its beggars
from place to place free of charge, and there is no
reason why this country should do so.

The custom has grown up in the United States dur-
ing the last thirty years. Before the Civil War there
were comparatively few tramps in America, and prac-
tically no railroad tramps. After the war there sud-
denly appeared on the scene a large class of men who
had become so enamoured of camp life that they found
it impossible to return to quiet living, and they took
to wandering about the country. Occasionally they
worked a little to keep themselves in "pin-money,"
but by 1870 hundreds of them had given up all in-
tention of working, and had founded the organization
known to-day as the "Hobo-Push." By that year.

The Tramp and the Railroads 303

also, they had discovered that our turnpikes, par-
ticularly in the West, were very poor roads to travel
on, and they began to walk on the railroad-track.

If, at this time, the railroad companies had had laws
passed, such as are in force to-day in Great Britain
and on the Continent, forbidding everybody but an
employee to walk on railroad property, except at pub-
lic crossings, we should have learned, ere this, to obey
them, and the railroad tramp would not have been
developed. These laws not being enacted, however,
it was not long before it became very clear to the
tramp that it would be much more comfortable to sit
in a box-car and ride, than to " drill" (walk) over the
ties. An appreciation of this character is acted upon
very soon in Hoboland, and by 1875 the majority of
the professional vagrants were taking lessons in jump-
ing on and off moving freight-trains. The trainmen,
partly because they thought that many of these tres-
passers were deserving but penniless out-of-works,
and partly on account of the inborn willingness of
every American to help a man in unfortunate circum-
stances, made practically no serious effort to keep the
tramp off their trains, and by 1880 the latter was
accepted by railroad companies as an unavoidable ^
nuisance on railroad property.

To-day it is the boast of the hoboes that they can
travel in every State of the Union for a mill per mile,
while in a number of States they pay nothing at all.
On lines where brakemen demand money of them, ten
cents is usually sufficient to settle for a journey of
a hundred miles, and twenty cents often secures a
night's ride. They have different methods of riding,

17

304 Tramping with Tramps

among which the favorite is to steal into an empty
box-car on a freight-train. At night this is compara-
tively easy to do ; on many roads it is possible to
travel this way, undisturbed, till morning. If the
train has no '' empties," they must ride on top of the
car, between the '' bumpers," on one of the car lad-
ders, or on the rods. On passenger-trains they ride
on top, on the '^ blind baggage," and on the trucks.

Taking this country by and large, it is no exaggera-
tion to say that every night in the year ten thousand
free passengers of the tramp genus travel on the
different railroads in the ways mentioned, and that
ten thousand more are waiting at watering-tanks and
in railroad yards for opportunities to get on the trains.
I estimate the professional tramp population at about
sixty thousand, a third of whom are generally on the
move.

In summer the entire tramp fraternity may be said
to be ^4n transit." The average number of miles
traveled daily by each man at this season of the year
is about fifty, which, if paid for at regular rates,
would cost, say, a dollar. Of course one should not
ordinarily pay so much to ride in a box-car as in a
passenger-coach, but the ordinary tramp is about as
comfortable in one as in the other, and, on the dollar-
a-trip basis, he and his 59,999 companions succeed in
getting out of the railroad companies sixty thousand
dollars' worth of free transportation every day that
they all travel. Multiply this figure by a hundred,
which is about the number of days in a year when all
trampdom '^ flits," and you have an approximate idea
of how much they gain.

A BRAKEMAN OF A FREIGHT-TKAIN COLLECTING FAKES.

The Tramp and the Railroads 307

Another serious loss to the railroads is that involved
in the disappearance of goods undergoing transporta-
tion, and in claims for personal injuries. Some tramps
steal, and some do not, but every year considerable
thefts are made from freight-cars, and tramps, or men
posing as such, are generally the guilty parties. Pro-
fessional thieves frequently become tramps for a time,
both to minimize their guilt and to elude capture, and
the probability is that the majority of the greater
thefts are committed by them. Tramps proper are
discouraged thieves, and I have seldom known them
to steal anything more valuable than fruit from freight-
cars and metal from idle engines. In a year's time,
however, including all the thefts committed by both
tramps and professional thieves, a very appreciable
loss results to the railroads, and I can recall, out of
my observation, robberies which have amounted to
several thousand dollars.

That railroad companies should have to reimburse
trespassers for the loss of a hand or foot while riding
unauthorized on trains will strike every one as a very
unjust tax on their resources, but such claims are con-
stantly made. Let us say, for example, that a young
boy who has been stealing his way on a freight-train
loses a leg. There is a type of lawyer who at once
takes up a case of this sort, going to the boy's parents
or relatives and suggesting to them the advisability
of claiming damages, asserting his readiness to serve
them in the matter. ^'All right," says the father;
" get what you can." In court the lawyer draws a
horrible picture of these engines of death, the rail-
roads, showing how they are constantly killing people.

308 Tramping with Tramps

If the boy's father is poor, this fact is also brought
graphically to the attention of the jury, and the wealth
of the corporation is described as something enormous.
If the lawyer manages his case cleverly, making out
that the boy was enticed on to the freight-train by
the trainmen, or that he fell under the wheels through
their carelessness, there are but few juries that will
refuse to give the father at least enough damages to
pay the lawyer's fee and the doctor's bill, and then
there is a celebration over having ^' squeezed" another
railroad company. For a private person to be com-
pelled by a court to pay damages to the father of a
boy who fell from an apple-tree in the private person's
orchard, where the lad was an obvious trespasser and
thief, would be considered an outrage.

I bring out these facts about the losses to the rail-
roads in some detail because the public is really the
railroad company, and consequently the sufferer.

To tell all that the country at large suffers from
the free railroad transportation of tramps would
take me beyond the limits of this chapter, but there
are a few points which must be noted. In the first
place, the railroads spread the tramp nuisance over a
much greater stretch of territory than would be the
case if the tramps were limited to the turnpikes.
There are districts in the United States which are so
difficult to reach by the highroad, on account of un-
profitable intermediate territory, that the hobo would
never attempt to go near them if it were not easy for
him to get over the disagreeable parts of the journey
in a box-car. Take the trip from Denver to San
Francisco, for instance. There is not a vagabond in

The Tramp and the Railroads 309

the country who would undertake to walk across the
American Desert merely to reach '^'Frisco," and if
walking were the only way to get to that city it would
be left largely to ''coast beggars." As matters now
stand, however, you may see a beggar one day in Fifth
Avenue in New York city, and a fortnight later he
will accost you in Market Street in San Francisco.
Many tramps can travel as rapidly as the man who
pays his way, and I have known those who could even
"hold down" the Chicago Limited from Jersey City
to Chicago without a break.

All this contributes to the difficulty of locating and
capturing the dangerous characters of tramp life ; and,
as I have said, many professional criminals, who have
nothing to do with beggars in other quarters, mix
with them in freight-cars.

A remark, in this connection, of Mr. Allen Pinkerton
is popular in Hoboland. He is reported by the hoboes
to have once said, in a conversation about the capture
of criminals, that he thought he could catch, in time,
almost any kind of criminal except the tramp, and
him he could not catch because it was so difficult to
locate him. '' One day he is in a barn, the next in a
haystack, and the next Heaven only knows where he
is, for he has probably got on to the railroad, and
there you might as well look for a lost pin."

The railroads also help to keep the tramp element
in our large cities. It very seldom settles in the
country, and not for any length of time in provincial
towns. New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston,
San Francisco, Buffalo, Baltimore, New Orleans, and
other like places are its main strongholds. The more

210 Tramping with Tramps

the criminal element of a country fastens itself upon
its cities, the harder it is to break up, and in the
United States this is what is taking place. Chicago,
for instance, is as much a center in the criminal as in
the business world, and almost every freight-train
entering it brings a contribution to its criminal popu-
lation. Even without railroads the tendency of crime
to predominate in towns would exist ; evil-doers feel
more at home in city streets and haunts than in the
country 5 but their present strength in our cities is
largely due to the free transportation they get from
the railroads.

Another striking fact is that out-of-works who
beat their way on freight-trains very easily degen-
erate into professional vagabonds. I have traveled
^■^ I with men who, in six months' time, had become volun-
tary vagrants merely because their first stolen rides,
while in search of work, had demonstrated to them
how easy it is to manage without working and pay-
ing their way. The average unemployed man in the
United States goes from one large city to another,
rather than, as is the custom in Europe, taking in the
intermediate towns and villages, where there is no
such likelihood of the labor-market becoming con-
gested. In a few weeks, unless he is a man of very
strong character he learns to travel merely for travel's
/ sake, and develops into a " stake-man," who only
works long enough to get a " stake " and then go off
on a trip again. Among the so-called unemployed in
this country there are thousands of this type, and
they are the result of this love of side-door Pullman
excursions.

V

A TRAMPS' DEPOT

I

The Tramp and the Railroads 313

There is one more fact which cannot be overlooked '
— the temptation which the railroads have for a ro-
mantic and adventuresome boy. A child possessed of
Wanderlust generally wanders for a while, anyhow,
but the chance he now has to jump on a freight- train
and " get into the world quick," as I have heard lads
of this temperament remark, has a great deal to do in
tempting him to run away from home. Hoboland is X
overrun with youngsters who have got there on the
raili'oads, and very few of them ever wander back to
their parents. Once started "railroading," they go
on and on, and its attractions seem to increase as the
years go by. Walking has no such charms for them,
and if it were their only method of seeing the world,
the majority of those who now keep on seeing it, until
death ends their roaming, would grow tired. The
raih'oad, however, makes it possible for them to keep
shifting the scenes they enjoy, and, in time, change
and variety become so essential that tbey are unable
to settle down anywhere. They are victims of what
tramps call the "railroad fever," a malady for which
a remedy has yet to be prescribed.

Can the tramps be driven off the railroads? It was
to satisfy my own curiosity in regard to this question,
and to find out how successful my employer, the gen-
eral manager, had been in his attempt to answer it
in the affirmative, that I undertook the investigation
which I have described. Previous to his efforts to
keep tramps off railroads, it had been thought, as he
has stated, that it was cheaper to put up with them
than to pay the bills which a crusade against them

314 Tramping with Tramps

would occasion. It has at last been demonstrated,
however, that they can be refused free transportation,
with a saving of expense to the company, and with
great benefit to the community; and the time has
come when the public should demand that all rail-
roads take a similar stand in regard to this evil.

If all the companies would take concerted action,
in a few years very few tramps, if any, would try to
beat their way on trains; an appreciable number
would give up tramping entirely, because their rail-
road privileges are to many the main attraction of the
life ; a few would try to become professional crimi-
nals again, partly out of revenge and partly because
tramping on the turnpikes would be too disagreeable ;
and a large number would take to the highways, where
some at least might be made to do farm- work. The
reader may take exception to the third possibility, and
, think that great harm would come of an increase in
/ the professional criminal class ; but, as I have said,
tramps are really discouraged criminals, and a return
to the old life, of which they had made a failure,
would only land them in the penitentiary.

It is probably impossible ever entirely to eliminate
the vagrant element in a nation's life, and no such
hope is held out in connection with the reform advo-
cated in this article ; but this much is certain : had all
the railroads been as closed to tramps, during my first
excursions into Hoboland, as one of them has recently
become, one man, at least, would not have attempted
any free riding, and would not have found so many
tramps to study.

PART III

SKETCHES

PART III
SKETCHES

PAGE

I. Old Boston Mary 317

II. Jamie the Kid 336

III. One Night on the "Q." 355

IV. A Pulque Dream 366

V. A Hobo Precedent 372

PART III — SKETCHES

OLD BOSTON MARY

ON the southern outskirts of the city of Boston,
hidden away in a field, and reached by streets that
gradually degenerated into straggling lanes, stood un-
til a few years ago an old shanty, noted for nothing
but loneliness and spooks. No one in the neighbor-
hood knew to whom it belonged or what was its
history. It was almost too forlorn to be interesting,
and few went near it. The children in the district
claimed that queer noises were heard in the shanty
at night, and their mothers threatened them with its
sheltered ghosts when they were especially naughty.
But this was the extent of the shanty's reputation in
its own parish.

Its history, or at any rate so much of it as is known,
is anything but romantic. When first built, it be-
longed to a ^' Paddy " on the railroad ; and after vari-
ous generations of this proprietary family had passed
on to the better quarters that Boston provides for its
ambitious Irish citizens, it became so dilapidated and
forlorn that it was turned over to some cows pastured
near by, as shelter for stormy days. It was still used

317

318 Tramping with Tramps

for this purpose, I am told, when Old Mary rented it.
How she discovered it, and why it attracted her, are
questions which even her best friends found difficult
to solve. But there was something about it which
appealed to her, and for several months she lived her
queer life in this uninteresting old building. Her
neighbors knew almost nothing about her, except
that she was an eccentric old woman, and that she
harbored a strange class of friends who might with
greater propriety have lodged in the city almshouse.
But otherwise she was a foreigner in her own province,
and no one could tell what she did or how she lived.
Strange, too; for in some respects this old creature
was a most notorious character, and had perhaps as
many acquaintances and friends as any citizen of
Boston. Almost every evening, after dark, had there
been curious eyes on watch, stragglers of many sizes
and conditions might have been seen wending their
way, stealthily and catlike, to her shanty, and ears
alert might have heard a queer password tapped on
the wooden door, which, as of its own free will, swung
back on noiseless leather hinges, and, closing, hid the
strangers from view. This went on night after night,
and no resident of the neighborhood knew or cared
much about it. Whatever was done in the shanty
passed off so quietly and unobljrusively that public
curiosity was not awakened.

My first knowledge of the place was on this wise :
One afternoon, while studying tramp life in New
York, I dropped in for a moment at a popular resort
of vagabonds in the Bowery. I had already had sev-
eral months' experience in their company, and was

Old Boston Mary 319

casting about for some new feature or phase of the
life ; naturally enough, I turned to the saloon to hear
of something which would put me on a fresh track.
As luck would have it, I chanced to overhear two
Eastern beggars discussing the customs and institu-
tions of Boston. Their conversation interested me,
and I drew nearer. During their talk, reference was
made to Old Mary's place, which I had never heard of
elsewhere, and I determined to see it.

It was not long before I had found a companion
and persuaded him to accompany me to Boston. He
also had heard of the place, and was fairly well ac-
quainted with its mistress, who, he declared, had been
a well-known hobo out West some years before. Her
history, as he recollected it, and which I know now to
be quite true, was something like this :

About forty years ago, a Gipsy girl in England,
who had wandered about with her tribe through
France as well as Britain, came to America, hoping
to find her Rom friends here strong enough to afford
her society and protection. But for some reason she
failed to meet with the welcome she had expected, and
as there was nothing else in the New World more
akin to her old life than the tramp's peripatetic exist-
ence, she joined the brotherhood, and for over thirty
years was recognized as a full-fledged member. Her
specialty, the hobo said, was '^ridin' the trucks "5 and
in this dangerous business she became an expert, and
was probably the only woman in the world who ever
made a practice of it. It may surprise some that a
woman reared in Gripsy society, and accustomed to the
rigorous social divisions which obtain there, should

320

Tramping with Tramps

ever have entered trampdom, composed almost en-
tirely of men. It must be remembered, however, that
there are women in all classes of society who are men's
women, not women's women, and at the same time
none the worse for their peculiarity. There is a cer-
tain comradeship in their relations with men which
even a stunted sense of honor will not abuse, and
which adds piquancy to their friendship.

The Gipsy girl was one of these, and had her friends
as well as her lovers. The lovers failed as she grew
older, but this strong-souled companionship stood her
in good stead, and held the friends she made. She
who had been so poorly cared for all her life long
had developed somehow a genius for taking care of
others, and so, after thirty years of hard riding and
hard faring of all sorts, her head not quite clear about
a good many things that human justice calls crime,
she set up a poor, miserable home for the brotherhood
of tramps. It was a crazy idea, perhaps, but the
woman herself was pretty well '' crippled under the
hat," my friend declared, and was known from Maine
to California, in true tramp dialect, as "Bughouse
Mary," or, as politer folk would say, " Crazy Mary."

She settled herself at first in a tumble-down old
tenement-house in the very heart of Boston, and her
place soon became known— too well known, in fact
—to certain officious and official personages who had
on more than one occasion found dangerous charac-
ters sheltered there. After some weeks she thought it
necessary to move on, and pitched her tent on the spot
already described. It was here that my companion
and I first tested her sisterly welcome. A town tramp

Old Boston Mary 321

put us on the right road, and gave us explicit direc-
tions. He advised us not to go by daylight, and
asked, " Does you blokes know the rules out at Mary's 1
I guess she 'd take you in anyhow, but mos' the blokes,
when they goes out there, takes along a handful o' ter-
bakker an' a chunk o' beef or somethin' else ter chew.
She alius 'xpects her half, too. It 's a sort o' law out
there, 'n' p'r'aps you lads 'u'd better do as I tells ye."

We followed his advice, and I looked for some
beefsteak, while my companion found the tobacco
and bread. About nine o'clock we started, and spent
fully an hour in finding the place. At the door, as we
knew of no especial knock, I whispered through one
of the cracks the word ^' Hobo," knowing that this was
the usual tramp call. We soon heard a queer voice
asking our names.

'^ Cigarette," I replied.

" What Cigarette ? " asked the voice.

I assured her that it was the Chicago brand.

This was sufficient, and the door opened far enough
to allow us to squeeze through, and we were in the
famous Boston hang-out.

The first attraction, of course, was Mary herself, and
she was well worth a longer pilgrimage. I shall never
forget the picture she made, as she stood in the middle
of the floor surrounded by her pals, and welcomed
us to her shanty. Her figure, although naturally
strong and straight, looked cramped and bent, and
had certainly suffered from long exposure and the
hardships of truck-riding. Her dress, although pictur-
esque in some particulars, looked just as tattered and
worn out as did her poor old body. The original cloth

322 Tramping with Tramps

and color of the skirt, if indeed it had ever had any,
were disguised by fully a dozen different patches sewed
on with coarse, straggling, Gipsy-like stitches. In
place of a waist she wore an old coat and vest, given
to her, as I afterward learned, by a clergyman. The
coat was soldier's blue, and the vest as red as a robin's
breast. A strange costume, it is true ; but as I looked at
her, it seemed, after all, a fitting one for such a unique
being. The head that topped the costume was most
interesting of all : a certain pose in moments of en-
thusiasm, and a certain toss at the climax of some
story relating her early triumphs, gave it an air of
wild nobility such as one sees in high-bred animals j
and when, in the consciousness of her weakened
powers, it dropped sadly on her breast, with the
ragged gray locks streaming out in all directions, one
could not escape the sense of fallen greatness in the
gaunt bowed figure and the tortured face.

Naturally she looked crazy, but I wished at the time
that if crazy people must really exist, they might look
like her. Her eyes were her most intelligent feature,
and even they at times would become glazed and al-
most uncanny. They were the most motherly, and
also the wickedest, I have ever seen on the road.
This sounds paradoxical, I know, but as I have heard
other men describe them in the same way, I think I
must be right. And when she looked at me I felt that
she was piercing my character and history in every
possible corner. I have no doubt that she intended
to impress me in this way. It is a Gipsy trick, and
she evidently had not forgotten it.

But queer and crazy as Old Mary appeared, she was

Old Boston Mary 323

nevertheless quite in harmony with her environment ;
for of all the odd hang-outs I have visited, hers was
certainly the oddest. The shanty itself was in many
respects just as the cows had left it, and the only
furniture it contained was a stove, a few old benches, a
greasy lamp, a supply of blankets, and a cupboard con-
taining one or two frying-pans and some polished and
renovated tomato-cans. These were all that the old
Gipsy had been able to gather together, and it had
cost her many days of fortune-telling to collect
even these. But, fortunately^, it was not for such
things that the beggars visited her. What they wanted
was simply a place where thej^ could be away from
the police, and in the company of Old Mary, whom
they looked upon as a sort of guardian angel. On
the night in question she had as guests men who
represented nearly every kind of vagabondage. The
" blanket-stife," the ^^ gay-cat," the ''shiny," the
"Frenchy," and the "ex-prushun" were all there.
Some were lying on the floor wrapped in their blan-
kets; some were mending their coats and darning
their socks; while others were sitting around the
stove playing a quiet game of poker, using as an
"ante" pieces of bread which they had begged. In
a corner there were still others who were taking off
their "jiggers," reminding one of that famous cour
des miracles which Victor Hugo has described in
"Notre Dame"; for the jiggers were nothing but
bandages wound around the legs and arms to excite
the sympathy of credulous and charitable people.

Mary was exceedingly kind in her welcome to both
my comrade and myself ; but on learning that I was

18

324 Tramping with Tramps

really the CMcago Cigarette she was a little partial to
me, I think, and made me sit down on a bench, where
we talked of various things and people, but especially
of a St. Louis beggar called '^ Bud," who had spoken to
her of a Cigarette with whom he once traveled. Learn-
ing that I was the very same, and that we had at one
time made a long journey in the West, she wanted to
know just when I had seen him last, how he looked,
and what he was doing. I could easily see, from the
passionate way she spoke of him and her eagerness for
late news concerning his whereabouts, that he had
once been a pal of hers, and I had to tell her as gently
as I could that the poor fellow had been starved to
death in a box-car in Texas. Some one had locked
him in, and when the car was shunted on to an unused
side-track, far away from any house or station, his fate
was settled. Try as one will to get out of such a pre-
dicament, there is no hope unless one has a large
knife and strength enough to cut through the walls.
Poor Bud was without both, and he died alone and
forsaken. I had heard of the accident from a man
who was in the neighborhood where it happened ; and
thinking that the best thing I could tell Old Mary
would be the truth, I stammered it out in a most
awkward fashion.

I knew well enough that she would cry, but I hardly
expected to see the sorrow that my story occasioned.
It was almost indescribable. She wept and moaned,
and swayed her old body back and forth in an agony
of grief, but not once did she speak. I tried my best
to comfort her, but it was of no use. She had to
suffer, and no one could help her. I felt so bad that

Old Boston Mary 325

I almost started to leave, but one of the men told me
that she would be all right pretty soon, and I waited.
True, she did become calmer, and in about an hour
was enough herself to talk about other matters 5 but
there was a grief still in her eyes that was most pitiful
to see. And I shall always remember her strange and
inarticulate agony. It showed, not a comrade's be-
reavement, nor yet the heart-wound of a motherly
nature merely, but a phase of emotion belonging to
younger hearts as well. I think also that there was a
Gipsy strain in her suffering which I could not com-
prehend at all.

When fairly aroused from her sadness, she asked
for our bundles of food, and made the men playing
cards on the stove move away, that she might light a
fire and cook our meal. While she attended to these
things, I passed around among the tramps. The place
hardly coincided with my expectations. I had looked
forward to a rough hang-out, where there would be
more fighting and cursing than anything else, but I
found nothing of the kind. The men conducted
themselves very respectably, at least while Mary was
looking on. There were a few harsh words heard, of
course, but there was none of that vulgarity that one
would naturally expect, for the hostess forbade it.
Not that she was a woman who had never heard bad
words or seen vulgar sights, but there was something
about her which certainly quieted and softened the
reckless people she gathered together. What this
was I cannot say, but I think it was her kindness.
For if there is anything which a tramp respects,
although he may forget it when it is out of his sight,

326 Tramping with Tramps

it is gentleness, and it was this trait in Old Mary's
character which won for her the distinction and
privileges usually accorded the mistress of the house.
She did everything she could to make her shanty
comfortable and her guests happy. For example,
one man had a sore foot, and while the meat was
frying she bandaged it most tenderly, making her
patient lie down on a blanket which she took from
a cupboard. Others wanted string or tobacco, and
she invariably supplied them. She gave each one
the impression that she was really interested in him ;
and to know this is exactly as pleasant to a tramp as
it is to any other human being.

When our supper was ready, Mary handed me a
little pail, and said : '' Gig, you 'd better run out 'n'
hustle some beer. You kin find it 'bout half a mile
up the road, ef you give the bloke a good story. But
don't let the bulls catch ye. I don't wan' cher ter
git sloughed up."

I took the pail and went in search of the beer,
which I found at the place she spoke of. On my re-
turn she had the meat and bread placed on a shingle,
and my companion and I, together with the hostess,
sat down on a bench and had a most satisfying meal.
During the repast Mary talked a good deal on numer-
ous subjects, and commented on tramp life in various
communities. She gave but little evidence of being
crazy, but her mind would wander once in a while,
and she would say in a dreamy sort of way, '^ Oh, Cig,
this sort o' bummin' hain't like the old times. Them
was the days fer beggars."

Those 51d days, I suppose, were when she first came

fl

i

Old Boston Mary 329

to this country ; and I have been told that a beggar's
life in that period was, if not more profitable, at any
rate more comfortable. I also heard her mumbling
and calling herself '^ bughouse," and with the word
her old head would fall humbly on her breast. But
her kindness was so sound and steadfast that this
occasional lapse into her inane mumbling did not
much impress me. She kept asking if I were having
enough to eat, and offered to cook more meat if I were
not. When we had finished, she handed me a new
clay pipe, gave me some tobacco which was of a better
brand than that which my companion had begged, and
then told me to smoke my " vittals stiddy." We sat
there for nearly an hour, not saying much, and yet
knowing fairly well what each one was thinking.
There is something in tramp nature which makes
these silent conversations easy and natural.

At twelve o'clock we prepared for sleep. Mary
was now at her best, and the way she assigned each
man his place was worthy of a general. As we had
to turn out about half -past four in the morning, so
that all would be quiet before people were astir, I
was glad enough to have a rest. The most of the
men took off their coats and shoes, making of the
former a blanket and of the latter a pillow, said,
''Pound yer ear well," to their nearest neighbors,
and then the candle was put out. Mary had a corner
entirely to herself.

I had been asleep for about three hours, I think,
when I was awakened by a light shining in my face,
and a hand passing over a tattoo mark on my right
arm. I started up, and saw Mary kneeling beside me

330 Tramping with Tramps

and inspecting the ^^ piece" very closely. Noticing
that I was awake, she whispered : '^ Come out o' the
shanty with me fer a minnit. I wants ter ask ye
somethin'."

I rose and followed her quietly out of the building
to a small hollow not far away.

'^Now, Cig," she said, "tell me the truth. Did
Bud croak down in Texas, dead sartain?"

I assured her that I had told her the truth.

" Well," she replied, " then the whole game is up.
Ye see, Bud was a Rom, too, 'n' we use' ter be great
pals. Fer nigh outer a tenner we bummed this kentry
together 'n' never had a fight. But one day Bud got
jagged, 'n' swore I had n' be'n square to 'im. So we
had a reg'lar out-'n'-outer, 'n' I hain't seen 'im sence.
I 's sorry that 'e 's croaked, fer 'e was a good bloke ;
yes, 'e was— yes, 'e was— " Here the poor creature
seemed to forget herself, and I could hear her saying,
'' Bughouse— bughouse." I recalled her to conscious-
ness, and said that I must leave, as it was nearly time
for her to close up shop. She wanted me to promise
to meet her on the Common in the afternoon, where
she did most of her begging, and handed me a quarter
to " keep me a-goin' " till then. I returned it, and told
her that I had to leave Boston that morning, but
would gladly visit her again some day. And I cer-
tainly intended to do so. But the natural course of
events took me out of vagabondage soon, and it was
not until quite recently that I heard any more of Bug-
house Mary.

A short time ago, while seeking some special and
late information regarding tramp life in the large

Old Boston Mary 331

cities, I chanced upon an old friend of Mary's, whom
I plied with questions concerning her whereabouts
and fate. It was a long time before he would give
me anything I could call a straight story, but at last,
finding I had been, years before, one of the brother-
hood, with hesitation and real sorrow he told me what
follows :

" I wuz drillin' one day, 'bout two months 'go, on the
Boston 'n' Albany road, 'n' hed jes got into a jerk town
[a village], where I battered [begged] fer some dinner.
It begun to rain arter I 'd chewed, so I mooched down
to the track 'n' found a box-car where I stopped fer
a while. I wuz waitin' fer the 'xpress, too, so the
wettin' wa'n't much uv a bother. Waal, I 'd be'n in
the car a few minnits, when I got all-fired sleepy, 'n'
ter save me gizzard I c'u'd n't keep me eyes open. So
I jes lay down 'n' pounded me ear [slept]. I 'd be'n
a-poundin' it, I guess, fer 'bout two hours — fer 't wuz
'bout five 'clock when I begun, 'n' 't wuz dead dark
when I got me peepers open — when I heerd somebody
pushin' away at the car door to beat the divil, 'n' o'
course looked out ; an' there on the groun' wuz one o'
the funniest bums y' ever see— long, flyin' hair, big
gray eyes, coat 'n' vest, 'n', ez sure 's I 'm a moocher,
a skirt too, but no hat. Course I was int'rested, 'n' I
jumps down 'n' gives the critter a big stare plump in
the face, fer I had the feelin' I 'd seen it afore some-
wheres. See 1 An' it sort o' answered, fer it seed I
wuz koorios. ' I say, blokey, kin yer tell me when the
flyin' mail passes through these yere parts ? I wants
ter make it, ef it do.' Then I knew who 't wuz, fer
ye kin tell Old Mary ev'ry time when she begins to

332

Tramping with Tramps

chew the rag. I tole her that the mail come through
^bout twelve 'clock, 'n' then asked her where her hat
wuz.

^' ^ Waal, blokey,' she said, ' I hain't a-wearin' them
air t'ings any more. I say, air yer right k'rect that
the flyin' mail comes through these yere parts?' I
guv it to her dead straight, 'n' tole 'er I wuz sartain.
Then I asked, 'Mary, ain' cher recognizin' common
peoples any more ? Don't chu know old Tom ? ' Ye
sh'u'd 'a' seen 'er look ! She put 'er old bony ban's
on me shoulders, 'n' stuck 'er old x)hiz clos't ter mine, 'n'
said, ' Who be ye, anyhow ? I 's gettin' sort o' old-like
'n' bughouse, 'n' I can't call yer name. Who be ye ?
'n' kin ye tell me ef I kin make the flyin' mail ? ' I
tole 'er who I wuz, 'n' ye sh'u'd 'a' seen 'er ! Ye see,
I 's summat younger than 'er, 'n' she jes treated me
like me old woman. It made me feel sort o' queer-like,
I tell ye, for I use' ter like the old gal in great style.

" Waal, we had a good talk, as ye kin well 'xpect,
but she kept askin' 'bout that blasted flyin' mail. I
did n' wan' ter ride it that night, 'cause she wuz purty
bughouse, 'n' I felt she 'd get ditched ef we tried it.
So I jes argeyed with 'er, 'n' did me best ter make 'er
stay where we wuz ; but I might jes 's well 'a' tried to
batter a dollar in the place. She was simply stuck on
pullin' out that night. I asked 'er why she did n't go
back to Boston, 'n' she said, ' Boston ! W'y, I 's got
the mooch out o' Boston. Ye see, Tom, I got ter tellin'
fortunes, 'n' the bulls snared me, 'n' his Honor tole
me to crawl. I did n' go at first, but arter a bit it
got too hot fer me out at the shanty, 'n' I had ter
mooch. So here I be, 'n' I guess I 'm a' right ; but

Old Boston Mary 333

I 's bughouse— yes, bughouse'; 'n' she kept a-
squealin' that word till I wuz sick. But she wuz
bughouse, dead sure. An' I guess that 's why she
wuz on the road, fer when I use' ter know 'er she
wuz too cute ter let any bull get roun' her ; anyhow,
no Boston bull c'u'd 'a' done it. P'r'aps a Chicago
one might, but he 's all eyes anyhow.

''Waal, ez I wuz sayin', I tried ter keep 'er from
ridin' the mail, but 't wa'n't no use. So I made up
me mind that I 'd go with 'er 'n' help 'er along. An'
when the train whistled roun' the curve, I got 'er over
to the tank, 'n' made 'er lay low till the train wuz
ready. Waal, the train had come, 'n' I looked it over
to find a blind baggage, but I c'u'd n't. So I sajs to
Mary, 'We 've got to truck it.' She got horstile 's
the divil when I tole 'er that. ' Truck it ! ' she said.
' Course we '11 truck it. What else d' ye 'xpect us to
do ? I use' ter ride out West as well as any o' ye, but
I 's gittin' old 'n' sort o' bughouse— yes, I is.' The
train wuz mos' ready to pull out, 'n' the con wuz
swingin' his lantern, so I took 'er hand 'n' got 'er
into the baggage-car trucks. ' Get in carefully,' I
said, "n' be sartain ter hang on to the right rod.'
She dumb in 'tween the wheels, 'n' fixed 'erself with
'er back to the engine. It would 'a' made ye cry to
hear 'er beggin' me to look out fer 'er. ' Don't leave
the old gal, will yer, blokey ? ' I tole 'er I w'u'd n't, 'n'
got in alongside her jes ez the whistle blew ; 'n' away
we went, ridin', fer all either on us c'u'd tell, to the
divil. 'T wa'n't no time to think 'bout that, though,
fer I had to remember the old gal. I did n't dast ter
hold 'er, fer I 'd 'a' fallen meself , so I jes had to holler

334 Tramping with Tramps

at ^er, 'n' be sure that she hollered back. I kept a-
bellerin', ' Hang on, Mary, hang on ! ' 'n' she kept
sayin', ^ I will, blokey, I will ! ' She meant, o' course,
that she 'd do her best, but arter a few minnits I see
clear 'nough she 'd never pull through. The way the
wind 'n' the gravel 'n' the dirt flew round our faces,
'n' the cramps that took us, settin' so crooked-like,
wuz 'nough to make bigger blokes 'n she give up, 'n'
don' cher forget it. An' to make things worse, her
hair blew all over me face, 'n' matted down me eyes
so I c'u'd hardly see. I das' n't brush it away, f er I 'd
tumbled sure. The gravel cut me face, too, 'n' onc't a
good-sized stone hit me lips such a rap that I c'u'd
feel the blood tricklin' on me chin. But worse than
all. Old Mary got to screamin', 'n' I c'u'd n't see her
fer her hair. She screamed 'n' screamed, ' The flyin'
mail— oh, I say— the flyin' mail,' an' 'er shriekin' 'n' the
rattlin' o' the wheels made me nigh bughouse, too. I
called out ev'ry few minnits to keep 'er down to biz-
ness, 'n' I got one more answer sayin' she was doin' 'er
best. An' then some o' her hair flew in me mouth, 'n'
try me best I c'u'd n't get it out, 'n' I did n't dast ter
take me hands off the rod. So I c'u'd n't see 'er or
speak to 'er any more. See? I heard 'er screamin'
agen, 'Oh, I say— the flyin' mail— flyin'— bughouse,'
an' then nothin' more. I c'u'd n't say nothin', so I
jes made a big noise in me throat to let 'er know I
wuz there. By 'n' by I heerd it agen,— 'Bughouse
—flyin' mail— blokey,'— an' agen I lost 'er. I wuz
nearly bughouse meself . Ef that train hed only hauled
up ! Ef I hed only kept 'er from ever gettin' on to it !
I c'u'd n' hold 'er, I c'u'd n' speak to 'er, I c'u'd n'
see 'er, an' all the divils wuz dead agen' us. An' she

Old Boston Mary 335

wuz gettin' wilder ev'ry minnit. I shook me head up
'n' down, back'urd V for'ard— 't wuz all I c'u'd do.
Once agen she begun her screamin', ' Oh, I say, the flyin'
mail— fly in'— fly in V an' then I said the biggest thankee
I ever said in me life f er bein' blinded in me eyes ; fer
when her old hair hed swished away, 'n' me eyes wuz
free agen, I wuz hangin' on alone, 'n' the wheels hed
carried me far away from where the old gal avuz lyin',
I c'u'd n't help it. Gig- no, I c'u'd n't; 'n' you mus'
tell the other blokes that I done my best, but 't wa'n't
no use— I done my best."

The tremor of the tone, the terror lest I should
think he had not been faithful to his awful trust, told
better than words that his tale was true, and that he
had done his best to save the poor wrecked life so
confidingly placed in his care.

But the end was not unfitting. The "fly in' mail,"
the cramped and painful ride, the pelting storm of
dust and gravel, the homeless goal— what could be
more symbolic of Old Mary's career? And on the
wings of steam and wind her Gipsy spirit went flying
—flying.

OLD BOSTON MAEY.

II

JAMIE THE KID

IT was my last night in San Francisco, and I could
not leave without saying good-by to Old Slim.
His place was almost empty when I strolled in, and he
was standing behind his greasy bar counting the day's
winnings. The adios was soon said, and I started for
the street again. I had hardly left the bar when the
door suddenly squeaked on its rickety hinges, and a
one-armed man came in with a handsome kid. He
was evidently dying of consumption, and as he shuffled
clumsily across the floor, with the boy following
solemnly at his heels, I fancied that he wanted Slim
to help him into a hospital. He called for his drinks,
and asked Slim if he knew of any one " bound East "
the next day.

^' W'y, yes," Slim replied ; " that young feller right
back o' ye leaves ter-morrer: ain't that right, Ciga-
rette?"

The man turned and looked at me. Grabbing my
hand, he exclaimed :

^^Well, I '11 be jiggered! Where d' y'u come
from? Don't remember me, eh? W'y, you little
beggar, have you forgotten the time we nearly

336

Jamie the Kid 337

croaked in that box-car jus' out of Austin— have
you forgotten that?" and he pinched my fingers as
if to punish me.

I scrutinized him closely, trying to trace in his
withered and sickened face the familiar countenance
of my old friend Denver Red.

'' Yes, that 's right, guy me ! " he retorted ner-
vously. '^ I 've changed a little, I know. But look at
this arm,"— pushing back his sleeve from the emaciated
hand,— '^ that crucifix ain't changed, is it ? Now d' you
know me 1 "

There was no longer any reason for doubt, for down
in Texas I had seen New Orleans Fatty put that same
piece on his lonely arm. But how changed he was !
The last time we met he was one of the healthiest
hoboes on the '^ Santa Fe," and now he could just
barely move about.

"Why, Red," I asked, "how did this happen?
You 're nearly dead."

"Sleepin' out done it, I guess," he answered hoarsely.
" Anyhow, the crocus ^ says so, 'n' I s'pose he knows.
Can't get well, neither. Be'n all over— Hot Springs,
Yellarstone, Yosem'ty, 'n' jus' the other day come up
from Mex'co. Cough like a horse jus' the same. But
say, Cig, drink out, 'n' we '11 go up to Jake's— 's too
public here. I 've got a lot to tell you, 'n' a big job fer
you, too ; '11 you come ? A' right. So long, Slim ; I '11
be in agen ter-morrer."

We were soon seated in a back room at Jake's.
The boy stretched himself on a bench, and in a mo-
ment was asleep.

1 Doctor.

338

Tramping with Tramps

" Purty kid, ain't he ? " Red said, looking proudly at
the little fellow.

" An' he 's a perfect bank, too, 'f yon train 'im right.
You oughter seen 'im over in Sac ^ the other day. He
drove some o' them Eastern stiffs nearly wild with the
way he throws his feet. Give 'im good weather an' a
lot o' women, 'n' he '11 batter his tenner ev'ry day.
They get sort o' stuck on 'im somehow, 'n' 'fore they
know it they 're shellin' out. Quarters ev'ry time,
too. He don't take no nickels— seems to hate 'em. A
Los Angeles woman tried 'im once, 'n' what d' you
think he did ? Told 'er to put it in an orphan 'sylum.
Oh, he 's cute, bet cher life. But, Cig,"— and his voice
dropped to a lower pitch,— " he 's homesick. Think of
it, will you, a hobo kid homesick ! Bawls like the devil
sometimes. Wants to see his ma— he 's only twelve
'n' a half, see ? If 'e was a homely kid, I 'd kick 'im.
If there 's en'thing I can't stand, it 's homely bawlin'
kids. They make me sick. But you can't kick Mm —
he 's too purty J ain't he?" and he glanced at the
slumberer.

"You pull out at seven, do you?" he asked, after
a pause.

" Well, Cig, I 'm mighty glad it 's you I found at
Slim's. I was hopin' I 'd meet some bloke I knew, but
I feared I would n't. They 're mos' all dead, I guess.
Bummin' does seem to kill us lads, don't it? Ev'ry
day I hear o' some stiff croakin' or gettin' ditched.
It 's a holy fright. Yer bound f er York, ain't you, Cig ?
Well, now, see here 5 I 've got an errand f er you. What
d' you think 't is ? Give it up, I s'pose ? Well, you see

1 Sacramento.

Jamie the Kid 339

that kid over there ; purty, ain't he ? " and he walked
over to the bench and looked into the lad's face.

''Pounds his ear [sleeps] like a baby, don't he?"
and he passed his hand delicately over the boy's
brow.

" Now, Cig," he continued, returning to his seat, " I
want — you — to — take — this — kid — back — to — the —
Horn. That 's where he lives. What d' you say ? "

There was only one thing I could say. A few
months more at the outside and Red would be gone,
and it was probably the last favor I could do him in
payment for the many kindnesses he had shown mo in
the early days.

"If en'thing happens to 'im, Cig, w'y, it 's got to
happen, I s'pose ; but he 's so dead stuck on seein' his
ma that I guess he '11 be purty foxy. I 'd take 'im
myself, but I 'm 'fraid I can't pull through. It 's a
tough trip 'tween here 'n' Omaha, 'n' I guess he '11 be
safer with you. I hate to let 'im go at all, but the
devil of it is I ain't got the nerve to hang on to 'im.
You see, I 'm goin' to croak 'fore long— oh, you don't
need to snicker ; 't 's a fact. A few more months 'n'
there '11 be one less hobo lookin' fer set-downs. Yes,
Cig, that 's straight. But that ain't the only reason
I 'm sendin' the kid home. I oughter sent 'im home
'bout a year ago, 'n' I said I would, too, 'f I found 'im.
I lied, did n't I ? Ye-es, sir ; 'bout twelve months ago
I told his mother I 'd fetch 'im back 'f I collared 'im.
How 's that fer a ghost-story, eh? Would n't the
blokes laugh, though, if they 'd hear it ? Denver Red
takin' a kid home ! Sounds funny, don't it ? But
that 's jus' what I said I 'd do, 'n' I was n't drunk,

340 Tramping with Tramps

nuther. Fill up yer schooner, Cig, 'n' I '11 tell you
'bout it."

He braced himself against the wall, hugged his
knees, and told me what follows.

*' You know where the Horn is right 'pough, don't
you ? Well, 'bout a year 'n' a half ago I got ditched
there one night in a little town not far from the main
line. 'T was rainin' like the devil, 'n' I could n't find
an empty anywheres. Then I tried the barns, but
ev'ry one of 'em was locked tighter 'n a penitentiary.
That made me horstile, 'n' I went into the main street
'n' tackled a bloke fer a quarter. He would n't give
me none, but 'e told me 'f I wanted a lodgin' that a
woman called College Jane 'u'd take me in. Says he :
' Go up this street till you strike the academy ; then
cross the field, 'n' purty soon you '11 find a little row o'
brown houses, 'n' in No. 3 is where Jane lives. You
can't miss the house, 'cause there 's a queer sign
hangin' over the front door, with a ball o' yarn 'n' a
big needle painted on it. She does mendin'. I guess
she '11 take you in. She always does, anyhow.' Coiu-se
I did n't know whether he was lyin' or not,— you can
never trust them hoosiers,— but I went up jus' the
same, 'n' purty soon, sure 'nough, I struck the house.
I knocked, 'n' in a minnit I heerd some one sayin', ' Is
that you, Jamie ? ' Course that was n't my name, but
I thought like lightnin', 'n' made up my mind that
't was my name in the ram, anyhow. So I says, in a
kid's voice, 'Yes, it 's Jamie.' The door opened, 'n'
there was one o' the peartest little women y' ever see.

" ' Oh, I thought you was n't Jamie,' she says. ' Come
in— come in. You must be wet.'

Jamie the Kid 341

" I felt sort o' sheepish, but went in, 'n' she set me
down in the dinin'-room. Then I told 'er a story.
One o' the best I ever told, I guess— made 'er eyes
run, anyhow. An' she fed me with more pie 'n' cake
than I ever had in my life. Reminded me o' the time
we thought we was drunk on apple-pie in New Eng-
land. Well, then she told me her story. 'T wa'n't
much, but somehow I ain't forgotten it yet. You see,
she come from the soil, 'n' her man was a carpenter.
After they 'd be'n West 'bout six years he up 'n' died;
leavin^ her a little house 'n' a kid. She called 'im
Jamie. Course she had to live somehow, 'n' purty
soon she got a job mendin' fer the 'cademy lads, 'n'
she boarded some of 'em. That 's the way she got her
monikey ^— see ? Well, things went along purty well,
'n' she was 'spectin' to put the kid in the 'cademy 'fore
long. H-e-e-e did n't like books very well— hung
around the station mos' the time. Sort 0' stuck on
the trains, I s'pose. Lots o' kids like that, you know.
Well, to wind up the business, one night when he was
'bout 'leven year old he sloped. Some bloke snared 'im,
prob'ly, an' ever since she 's be'n waitin' 'n' waitin' fer
'im to come back. An' ev'ry night she fixes up his bed,
'n' 'f anybody knocks she always asks, 'Is that you,
Jamie ? ' Funny, ain't it 1 Well, somehow the bums
got on to 'er, 'n' ever since the kid mooched she 's be'n
entertainin' 'em. Gives them his room ev'ry time.
An' she always asks 'em 'f they know where he is.
She asked me too, 'n' made me promise 'f I found 'im
that I 'd send 'im home. Course I never 'spected to
see 'im, but I had to say somethin'.

1 Nickname.
19

342 Tramping with Tramps

''Well, sir, six months afterward I was sittin' in
Sal's place in K. C./ when who should come in but
New York Slim. He called me out, 'n' says, 'Red,
wanter buy a kid V As it happened, I did want one,
so I asked 'im how much 'e wanted. He took me over
to a joint 'n' showed me that kid over there on that
bench. 'Give you a sinker [a dollar],' I said. He
was satisfied, 'n' I took the kid.

" Well, sir, as luck would have it, 'bout a week later
the kid got so stuck on me that he told me his story.
I did n't know what to do. He did n't wanter go home,
'n' I did n't want 'im to. Course I did n't tell 'im
nothin' 'bout seein' his ma— that 'u'd 'a' spoiled ev'ry-
thing. Well, I did n't say nothin' more 'bout it, 'n'
we come out here. I 've had 'im now fer.'bout a year,
'n' I 've trained 'im dead fine. W'y, Cig, he 's the best
kid on the coast— yes, he is. But, as I 've be'n tellin'
you, he 's homesick, 'n' I 've got to get 'im back to the
Horn. I 'm 'fraid he won't stay there— he 's seen too
much o' the road ; but I '11 croak jus' a little bit easier
from knowin' that I sent 'im back. I 'd like it 'f he 'd
stay, too ; 'cause, to 'f ess up, Cig, I ain't very proud o'
this bummin', 'n' 'f 'e keeps at it 'e '11 be jus' like me
'fore long. So when 'e wakes up I 'm goin' to lecture
'im, 'n' I don't want you to laugh. May help, you
know; can't tell."

Two hours later we were in the railroad yards wait-
ing for my train to be made up. There were still about
fifteen minutes left, and Red was lecturing the kid.

" See here, kid," I heard him saying ; " what 's you
learnt since I 've had you— en'thing?"

1 Kansas City.

Jamie the Kid 345

" Bet cher life I has ! " the little fellow returned, with
an assumed dignity that made even Red smile.

'' Well, how much ? Rattle it off now, quick ! '^

The boy began to count on his fingers :

^^ Batterin', one ; sloppin' up, two j three-card trick,
three; an'— an'— that song 'n' dance, four— four; an'
— an' enhalin' cig'rettes, five — five — " Here he
stopped and asked if he should take the next hand.

^' Yes, go on ; let 's have the hull of it."

'^ Well, then, I knows that cuss-word you taught me
—that long one, you know ; that 's six, ain't it? Oh,
yes, 'n' I knows that other cuss-word that that parson
told us was never forgiven— remember, don't you?
Well, that 's seven— seven. I guess that 's about all
— jus' an even seven."

"You sure that 's all, kid?"

" Well, darn it. Red, ain't that enough fer a prushun 1
You don't know much more yerself — no, you don't, 'n*
you 's three times old 's I am " ; and he began to pout.

"Now, kid, d' you know what I wants you to do?"

" Bet cher life I do ! Ain' cher be'n tellin' me fer
the las' year? You wants me to be a blowed-in-the-
glass stiff. Ain't them the words ? "

" No, kid. I 've changed my mind. Yer goin' home
now, ain' cher ? "

"Jus' fer a little while. I 'm comin' back to you,
ain't I?"

"No, you ain't, kid. Yer goin' home fer good.
Cigarette 's goin' to take you, 'n' you must n't come
back. Listenin' ? "

" Say, Red, has you gone bughouse ? I never heerd
you talk like that in my hfe."

34^ Tramping with Tramps

'' See here, kid,"— and there was a firmer tone in his
voice,— ^Sve ain't fooliu' now— understan' ? An' in
about five minnits you '11 be gone. Now, I wants you
to promise that ye '11 ferget ev'ry darn thing I 've
taught you. Listenin' 1 "

The kid was gazing down the track.

^'Listenin'?" Red cried again.

The kid turned and looked at him. ''Can't I en-
hale cig'rettes any more ? Has I got to ferget them,
too?"

" Well, kid, you Mn tell yer mother that I says you
kin do that— but that 's all. Now, 11 you promise?"

" Gosh, Red, it '11 be hard work ! "

" Can't help it— you got to do it. You don't wanter
be like me. You wanter be somethin' dead fine—
'spectable."

"Ain't you somethin' dead fine? I heerd 'Frisco
Shorty say onc't you was the fliest bloke in yer line
west o' Denver.'^

"You don't understan', kid"; and he stamped his
foot. "I mean like yer mother. Listenin'? Well,
'11 you promise ? "

The kid nodded his head, but there was a surprise
in his eyes which he could not conceal.

The train was at last ready, and we had to be quick.

" Well, Cig, so long ; take care o' yerself . Be good
to the kid.'^

Then he turned to the boy. It was the tenderest
good-by I have ever seen between a prushun and his
jocker. A kiss, a gentle stroke on his shoulder, and
he helped him climb into the box-car.

The last we saw of Red, as we stood at the door

Jamie the Kid 347

while the engine puffed slowly out of the yards, he
was standing on a pile of ties waving his hat. Six
months afterward I was told in the Bowery that he
was dead.

The journey to the Horn was full of incident. For
six long days and nights we railroaded and railroaded,
sometimes on the trucks and the blind baggage, and
again lying flat on top, dodging the cinders as they
whizzed about our heads, and the brakeman as he
came skipping over the cars to tax us for the ride. It
was hard work, and dangerous, too, at times, but the
kid never whimpered. Once he wanted to, I thought,
when a conductor kicked him off the caboose ; but he
faked a professional little laugh in place of it. And
he also looked rather frightened one night when he
nearly lost his grip climbing up the ladder of a cattle-
car, but he was afterward so ashamed that it was
almost 'pitiful. He was the " nerviest " child I ever
traveled with. Even on the trucks, where old natives
sometimes feel squeamish, he disguised his fear. But
he was at his best at meal-time. Regularly he would
plant himself before me in waiter fashion, and say :

" Well, Cig'rette, what 's it to be ? Beefsteak 'n'
'taters 'n^ a little pie— 11 that do ? "

Or if he thought I was not having enough variety
he would suggest a more delicate dish.

"How '11 a piece o' chicken taste, eh?" And the
least eagerness on my part sent him off to find it.

It was not, however, an entirely one-sided affair,
for I was in his service also. I had to protect him
from all the hoboes we met, and sometimes it was not
so easy as one might think. He was so handsome

348 Tramping with Tramps

and clever that it was a temptation to any tramp to
snare him if he could, and several wanted to buy him
outright.

^' I '11 give you five balls fer 'im/' one old fellow told
me, and others offered smaller sums. A Southern
roadster tried to get him free of cost, and the tales he
told him, and the way he told them, would have done
honor to a professional story-teller. Luckily for me,
the kid was considerably smarter than the average boy
on the road, and he had also had much experience.

'^ They 's got to tell better short stories than them
'fore they get me ! " he exclaimed proudly, after several
men had tried their influence on him. '' I 'm jus' as
cute as they is, ain't I ? I know what they wants—
they think I 'm a purty good moocher, 'n' they '11
make sinkers out 0' me. Ain't that it 1 "

None the less I almost lost him one night, but it
was not his fault. We were nearing Salt Lake City at
the time, and a big, burly negro was riding in our car.
We were both sleepy, and although I realized that it
was dangerous to close my eyes with the stranger so
near, I could not help it, and before long the kid and I
•were dozing. The next thing I knew the train was
slowing up, and the kid was screaming wildly, and
struggling in the arms of the negro as he jumped to the
ground. I followed, and had hardly reached the track
when I was greeted with these words : '' Shut up, or
I '11 t'row de kid under de wheels."

The man looked mean enough to do it ; but I saw
that the kid had grabbed him savagely around the
neck, and, feeling sure that he would not dare to risk
his own life, I closed with him. It was a fierce tussle.

Jamie the Kid 349

and the trainmen, as they looked down from the cars
and flashed their lanterns over the scene, cheered and
jeered.

^^ Sick 'em ! " I heard them crying. '^ Go it, kid-
go it ! "

Our train had almost passed us, and the conductor
was standing on the caboose, taking a last look at the
fight. Suddenly he bawled out :

'' Look out, lads ! The express 's comin' ! "

We were standing on the track, and the negro
jumped to the ditch. I snatched the kid from the
ground and ran for the caboose. As we tumbled on
to the steps the " con " laughed.

^' Did n't I do that well?" he said.

I looked up the track, and, lo and behold ! there was
no express to be seen. It was one of the kind deeds
which railroad men are continually doing for knights
of the road.

As we approached the Horn the kid became rather
serious. The first symptom I noticed was early one
morning while he was practising his beloved " song 'n'
dance." He had been shaking his feet for some time,
and at last broke out lustily into a song I had often
heard sung by jolly crowds at the hang-out:

Oh, we are three bums,
Three jolly old bums,

We hve like royal Turks.
We have good luck
In bummin' our chuck.

To hell with the man that works !

After each effort, if perchance there had been one
'' big sound " at all like Red's, he chuckled to himself :

350 Tramping with Tramps

'^ Oh, I 'm a-gettin' it, bet cher life ! Gosh ! I wish
Red was here ! " And then he would try again. This
went on for about half an hour, and he at last struck
a note that pleased him immensely. He was just going
to repeat it, and had his little mouth perked accord-
ingly, when something stopped him, and he stared at
the floor as if he had lost a dime. He stood there
silently, and I wondered what the matter could be.
I was on the point of speaking to him, when he walked
over to the door and looked out at the telegraph-poles.
Pretty soon he returned to the corner where I was
reading, and settled down seriously at my side. In
a few moments he was again at the door. He had
been standing in a musing way for some time, when
I saw him reach into his inside coat pocket and bring
out the tattered bits of pasteboard with which he did
his three-card trick. Unfolding the packet, he threw
the paper on the track, and then fingered over each
card separately. Four times he pawed them over,
going reluctantly from one to the other. Then, and
before I could fancy what he was up to, he tossed them
lightly into the air, and followed them with his eye as
the wind sent them flying against the cars. When he
turned around, his hands were shaking and his face
was pale. I cruelly pretended not to notice, and asked
him carelessly what was the matter. He took another
look at the world outside, as if to see where the cards
had gone, and then came over to the corner again.
Putting his hands in his trousers pockets, and tak-
ing a long draw at his cigarette, he said, the smoke
pouring out of his nostrils, "I 'm tryin' to re-
form."

Jamie the Kid 351

He looked so solemn that I did not dare to laugh,
but it was all I could do to keep. from it.

" D' you think I '11 make it go ? " he asked, after a
pause, during which his feet had tried to tempt him
from his good resolution, and had almost led him into
the forbidden dance. Almost every hour from that
time on he asked that same question, and sometimes
the childish pathos that he threw into his voice and
manner would have unmanned an old stager.

The last day of our journey we had a long talk.
He was still trying to reform, but he had come to
certain conclusions, and one of them was that he could
not go to school any more ; or, what was more to the
point, that he did not see the need of it.

'' Course I don't know ev'rything," he explained,
'^but I knows a lot. W'y, I kin beat Red figgerin'
a'ready, an' I kin read things he can't, too. Lots o'
words he don't know 't I does ; an' when he 's drunk
he can't read at all, but I kin. You oughter seen us
in Cheyenne, Cig"; and the reminiscence made him
chuckle. '^ We was both jagged, 'n' the copper served
a paper on us, 'n' I had to read it to Red. Ain't that
purty good ? Red said 't was, anyhow, 'n' he oughter
know, ought n't he ? No, I don't think I need much
schoolin'. I don't wanter be President of the country :
'f I did, p'r'aps I oughter know some more words;
but seein' 's I don't, I can't see the use o' diggin' in
readers all the while. I wish Red had given me a
letter 'bout that, 'cause ma 'n' I '11 get to fightin' 'bout
it, dead sure. You see, she 's stuck on puttin' me tru
the 'cademy, 'n' I 'm stuck on keepin' out of it, 'n' 'f
we get to scrappin' agen I 'm afraid I won't reform.

352 Tramping with Tramps

She '11 kick 'hout my smokin', too ; but I 've got her
there, ain't I? Red said I could smoke, did n't 'e—
h'm 1 Tell you what I guess I '11 do, Cig. Jus' after
I 've kissed 'er I '11 tell 'er right on the spot jus' what
I kin do. Won't that be a good scheme 1 Then, you
see, she can't jaw 'bout my not bein' square, can she ?
Yes, sir ; that 's jus' what I '11 do " ; and he rubbed his
tattooed hands as if he had made a good bargain.

The next morning, just as the sun was rising over
the prairie-line, our train switched off the main road,
and we were at last rolling along over the Horn. The
kid stood by the door and pointed out the landmarks
that he remembered. Ere long he espied the open
belfry of the academy.

''See that cup'la, Cig?" he cried. ''Dad helped to
build that, but 'e croaked doin' it. Some people says
that 'e was jagged, 'cause 'e tumbled. Ma says the
sun struck 'im."

A few minutes later the train stopped at the water-
ing-tank, and my errand was done. There was no
need to jocker the boy any longer. His welfare de-
pended upon his mother and his determination to
reform. He kissed me good-by, and then marched
manfully up the silent street toward the academy. I
watched him till the train pulled out. Thus ended
one of the hardest trips of my life in Hoboland.

One warm summer evening, about three years after
leaving the Horn, I was sitting in a music-hall in the
Bowery. I had long since given up my membership
in the hobo fraternity, but I liked to stroll about now
and then and visit the old resorts ; and it was while

Jamie the Kid 353

on such an excursion that I drifted into the variety
show. I watched tlie people as they came and went,
hoping to recognize some old acquaintance. I had
often had odd experiences and renewal of friendships
under similar circumstances, and as I sat there I
wondered who it would be that I should meet that
night. The thought had hardly recorded itself when
some one grabbed my shoulder in policeman style, and
said, '' Shake ! " I looked around, and found one of
the burliest rowdies in the room. He turned out to
be a pal that I had known on the New York Central,
and, as usual, I had to go over my remembrances.
He also had yarns to spin, and he brought them so
up to date that I learned he was just free of a Vir-
ginia jail. Then began a tirade against Southern
prisons. As he was finishing it he happened to re-
member that he had met a friend of mine in the
Virginian limbo. *^ Said 'e knew you well, Cig, but I
could n't place 'im. Little feller ; somethin' of a kid,
I guess ; up fer thirty days. One o' the blokes called
'im the Horn kid, 'n' said 'e use' ter be a fly prushun
out in the coast country. Old Denver Red trained 'im,
he said. Who is he 1 D' you know 'im ? He was a nice
little feller. W'y, what 's wrong, Cig"? You look
spiked f upset]."

I probably did. It was such a disappointment as I
had hardly imagined. Poor kid ! He probably did
so well that his mother tried to put him into the
academy, and then he " sloped " once more. I told the
tramp the tale I have just finished. He was too obtuse
to see the pathetic side of it, but one of his comments
is worth repeating :

354 Tramping with Tramps

" You can't do nothin' with them kids, Cig. After
they 's turfed it a bit they 're gone. Better let 'em
alone."

But I cannot believe that that kind-hearted little
fellow is really gone. Whoever meets him now, police-
man or philanthropist, pray send him back to the
Horn again.

Ill

ONE NIGHT ON THE "Q"

IF there is any one thing that the hobo prizes more
than another it is his privilege to ride on the rail-
roads free of charge. He is as proud of it as the
American is of his country, and brags about it from
morning to night. Even the blanket-stiff in the far
West, who almost never sees the inside of a railroad-
car, will wax patriotic when on this subject. And
well he may, for no other country in the world pro-
vides such means of travel for its vagabonds. From
Maine to '' 'Frisco " the railroads are at the tramp's dis-
posal, if he knows how to use them, and seldom does
he take to the turnpike from any necessity.

There are, however, some difficulties and trials even
in his railroad life. When he rides a ''passenger,"
for instance, either on top or between the wheels, he
encounters numerous dangers and hardships, and it
is months before he knows how to meet them hero-
ically. Even on freight trains his task is not so easy
as some people think. A man must train for such
work, just as a pugilist trains for a fight, and it is
only when he is a real artist that he can enjoy it. I
The main difficulty in riding freight-trains is with the

355

35^ Tramping with Tramps

brakeman. No matter where the hobo goes, he runs
the risk of meeting this ubiquitous official. If he is
on the ''bumpers/' the brakeman is usually " guying"
him from the top of a car ; and if he goes " inside," so
too does the brakeman. Even at night the "brakey"
and his free passenger are continually running up
against each other. Sometimes they become fast
friends. The tramp will help put on the brakes, and
the brakeman will help conceal the tramp. But there
are other times when things are different. The brake-
man tries to '' ditch " the tramp, and the latter tries
to ''beat" the brakeman. On such occasions some-
thing happens. Usually the brakeman "gets left."
The hobo is too clever, and beats him at his own game.
But now and then even the hobo falls into a trap. Of
course he gets out sooner or later, but while in it he
is an interesting study. When free again, he usually
tells his cronies all about it, and they pity or applaud
him, as the case may be. But once in a long while
the trap he falls into turns out such a joke that he
says nothing about it, out of respect for the profes-
sion. He hates to be laughed at just as much as other
people, and no matter how good the joke is, he keeps
it to himself if it will tell against him.

I happen to know of just such a joke. It has been
kept quiet now for a number of years, but I think that
it can do no harm to teU it, since I was one of the
sufferers.

One night I chanced to be in Galesburg, Illinois,
situated on the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Rail-
road. I was with a hobo called " Elmira Fatty," and
we were on our way to " Chi," or Chicago, as polite peo-

One Night on the "O" ^ 359

pie call it. We had just come in from the West, where
we had spent some time with the blanket-stiffs, and
as far as Galesburg we had had no misfortune or bad
luck to report. In fact, from Salt Lake City on everj'-
thing had gone just as we had planned, and we were
hoping that night that nothing might interfere to
prevent us from arriving in " Chi " the next morning.
We expected to travel on a freight-train that was
due in Galesburg about nine o'clock. It was a mean
night for traveling, for the rain came down in torrents
and the wind blew most exasperatingly. Neverthe-
less, we wanted to push on if practicable, and about
half -past eight went over to the railroad yards to wait
for the freight. It came in on time, and Fatty and I
immediately took different sections of it in search of
an " empty." He looked over the forward part, and I
inspected the cars near the caboose. We met again in
a few minutes, and reported that '' there was n't an
empty in the whole line."

'^ W'y," said Fatty, '4t 's nothin' but a ole steer-
train ! Ev'ry blasted car is fuU of 'em."

I suggested that we wait for another, but he would
not listen to me.

"No, sir. If we break our necks, we '11 ride that train."

" But where are you going to ride ? " I queried.

" On top, o' course."

T knew that it was useless to argue with him, and
followed him up the ladder. We sat down on the top
of a car, with the rain simply pouring down upon us.
Pretty soon the whistle tooted and the train started.
As we pulled out of the yards the brakeman came over
the train, and espied me instantly.

360 ' Tramping with Tramps

'^ Hello, Shorty ! " he said, in a jovial way. " Where
you goin' ? "

" Oh, just up the road a bit. No objections, have
you?"

^^No, I guess I ain't got no objections. But say,
you lads are big fools."

'^ Here, here ! " said Fatty, angrily. '^ Who you
callin' fools?"

'' I 'm callin' you fools, ^n' y' are, too."

" See here," continued Fatty j ^'if you call me a fool
agen I '11 put yer face in— I will, by gosh ! " and he
stood up to make good his threat.

^' Don't get 'uffy; don't get 'uffy," said the brakey,
soothingly. "Lemme tell you somethin'. See them
hay-boxes over there on the corner o' the car ? "

'^ Hay-boxes ! " exclaimed Fatty, and he looked at
me in surprise.

" Come over 'n' look at 'em."

We followed him to the end of the car, and there,
true enough, after he had lifted the lid, was a most
comfortable hay-box, nearly full of nice soft hay.

Fatty was almost wild with delight, and patting me
on the back, said :

^'W'y, Cig, this is a perfect palace-car, ain't it?
Gosh ! "

The brakeman held his lantern while I got into the
box. The opening was not very large, hardly more
than a foot wide— plenty large enough for me, it is
true, but I was much smaller than Fatty. When he
tried to get in there was some trouble. His head and
shoulders went through all right, but then he stopped,
for his paunch was the broadest part of him, and he

One Night on the " Q " 361

complained that "it pinched ter'bly." Exactly what
to do was a poser, but finally he nerved himself for
another squeeze. He twisted, slipped, and grunted,
and at last had to beg me to hold his head and steer
him, so helpless had his exertions made him. I guided
him as best I could, and pretty soon he came ''ka-
plunk," as he called it, on the hay. The brakey
closed the lid and left.

Fatty had hardly settled himself before he began
to wonder how he would get out in the morning.

" By gosh ! " he said, " pVaps I '11 jus' have to stay
here, 'n' they '11 carry me right over to the stock-yards.
Would n't I be a great steer, eh ? "

But I was too tired to speculate, and in a few min-
utes was asleep. What Fatty did for the next fifty
miles I can't say, but in about two hours he cruelly
awakened me and asked for a match.

" Why, you 're not going to smoke here ? " I said.

" Cert," he crisply replied. " Why not ? "

*' You '11 set the place afire, with all this loose hay
about."

" Set yer gran'mother afire ! Gimme a lucifer."

I told him I had none, and then he wanted me
to get out and ask the brakey for one. I did not
want to do it, but I felt sure that he would trouble
me all night unless I did, so I consented to go. But,
lo and behold ! when I tried to lift the lid it would not
lift.

"Fatty," I said, "we 're ditched."

" Ditched yer gran'mother ! What 's the matter ? "

" This lid won't move."

" Lemme get at it."
20

362 Tramping with Tramps

Fatty weighed two hundred and fifty pounds,—
"punds," he called them,— and he put every one
against that lid. It squeaked a little, but still would
not lift.

" Fatty," I repeated, " we 're ditched."

But he was determined not to give in, and lay on his
back to kick the lid. He reasoned that that ought to
mean fifty pounds more, and if three hundred " punds '
could n't budge the thing, then something was going
to happen. He kicked and kicked. The lid squeaked
a good deal, but was as stubborn as ever. Then you
should have heard Fatty scold. He scolded every-
body, from the president of the road down to the
humblest switchman, and then, as if he had not done
enough, said :

" By gosh, Cig, we '11 prosecute 'em ! This is simply
scandalous! Tramps can't ride this way, and they
ought to know it. Yes, sir, we '11 prosecute 'em."

Then he began to swear, and never in my life have
I heard such maledictions hurled at poor erring rail-
road officials. Soon even cursing tired him, and he
tumbled back on the hay exhausted. After he had
rested a bit, a new phase of the situation presented
itself to him, and he felt around in the box to see how
much hay there was between us and the steers.

"There ain't much, Cig," he whined; " little;

an here we are locked in ! By the hoky-poky, I 'd
like to git hold o' that brakey's throat ! I 'd squeeze
it, take my tip for that. An', by gosh, if them steers
kill us, he '11 croak for it, an' don' cher forget it ! "

" Steers ! " I exclaimed. " What do you mean.
Fatty?"

One Night on the " Q " 363

" Wy, don' cher know them steers is right under us ? "

"Well, what of that?"

'^Wy, they Ve got horns— big ones, too."

"Well, what of that, Fatty?"

" W'y, you fool, we ain't got any."

"But, Fatty, what does that matter?"

" Matter ! Matter ! Ain' cher got no sense ? Don'
cher know nothin'? Ain' cher never heard o' steers
hookin' a bloke before ? You must be a tenderfoot."

Then I grasped the situation. We were at the
mercy of those Texas steers ! Soon I heard Fatty
saying, in a most pitiful voice :

" Cig, I guess we 'd better say our little prayers
right now, 'cause if we get to sleep we '11 forget all
about it. So you begin, 'n' while yer chewin' the rag
I '11 watch the hay."

He wanted me to pray, and actually thought that
that was the only thing that would save us. He
always was a religious fellow in great emergencies,
and his scheme did not much surprise me ; but as I
knew of no prayer fitted for such an occasion, I told
him so, and added that even if I did know one I should
prefer to leave it unsaid, considering the circum-
stances.

" We had no business letting the brakey lock us in
here, and you know it, too. So we '11 have to get out
the best way we can."

This bravery was a little faked, but I thought it
best to keep as cool as possible, for Fatty was con-
tinually fuming and scolding. And every few minutes
he would feel around in the hay, and then say, most
forlornly :

364 Tramping with Tramps

" Cig, them pokers is gettin' nearer. Prepare to die."

Once I thought he was joking, and told him to stop
if he thought he was scaring me.

"I ain't tryin' to scare you," he whined 5 "I 'm
simply tellin' you the truth."

This was certainly alarming, and I almost confessed
my fear. But I managed to control myself, and per-
severed in my artificial boldness.

^' Well, Fatty, let 's die game, anyhow. If the horns
come up here we can kick at them, and perhaps the
steers will be frightened. Can't tell, you know."

'^ No, that won't work," he replied hopelessly, and
he measured the hay once more. This time his hand
struck the thin and widely separated slats, the only
barriers between us and the steers. We both knew
that if the horns ever came through them, we would
be done for.

u ^e yj.Q gone, Cig," Fatty continued ; '^ no doubt of
it. But, jus' the samey, I 'm goin' to pound my ear,
anyhow. I 'd rather die asleep than awake. So, so
long, Cig ; if you croak first, I '11 pray for you."

Then, much to my surprise and indignation, he
curled into a big baU and "pounded his ear." I
remained awake for a while longer, listening to the
steers chewing away at the hay. But, in spite of the
n earing danger, I became sleepy, too, and was soon
lying beside Fatty. In the morning, about half -past
five, we awoke simultaneously. I felt around in the
box, and the hay seemed almost gone.

" I wish that I 'd died in the night," said Fatty,
angrily. " Now I 've got to go when I 'm awake."

The train began to slow up— perhaps we were to be

One Night on tfie "Q" 365

saved, after all. It came to a full stop, and we could
hear footsteps. Some one was walking along the
path near the track.

^' Shall I holler?" asked Fatty.

^^ Perhaps it 's a policeman," I returned, '^ and that
means thirty days in the Bridewell. Would n't you
rather die ? "

^' But p'r'aps 't ain't ! " And he called through one
of the cracks, " Hobo ! Hobo ! "

Luckily it was a hobo.

''Come up here," cried Fatty, "'n' unjail us, for
heavin's sake. We 're locked in the hay-boxes j climb
on top 'n' loose the cover."

We heard him quickly obeying the call. He
climbed up the ladder, loosened the latch, and seemed
to wonder at our eagerness to leave such a nest of
comfort. Fatty was helped out immediately, although
we were still six miles from "Chi"; but I made him
wait while I looked to see just what danger we had
escaped. There is so much compensating consolation
in a view of perils safely passed. There was still a
fair amount of hay in the box. I rooted down to the
slats for a last look at our tormentors, and there, right
before me, stood those awful beasts, wild and fresh
from the fields of the Lone Star State. There were
nearly twenty of them, I should say, but not a single
one had a horn !

Fatty sneaked off to the watering-tank, and I waved
adieu to him from the top of the car. His face wore
the grimmest of grins, and his last words were, " If
you ever tell this joke at the hang-out, Cig— " And
I never have.

IV
A PULQUE DREAM

THE freight had just pulled out of Queretaro,
and Barcas and I were lying on the floor of the
car near one of the side doors, commenting on the
landscape. We were on our way to the city of Mexico,
and it was my first visit. Barcas had been there be-
fore, three times, he said, and as the train drew nearer
the town he fell to telling me of what I should see and
how I should act. I was still quite a tenderfoot in
Hoboland, and needed Barcas's instruction.

He had just finished a very comprehensive explana-
tion of the Spanish language and its uncalled-for
differences, as he thought, from his mother-tongue,
and was beginning to describe certain hang-outs that
he was sure I would like, when the train stopped again
for a moment at a little station. Some half-breed
Indians were standing on the platform, sharing the
contents of a green bottle. It was being passed around
for another " draw " when Barcas happened to notice it.

" See that, Cig 1 " he said, tapping me quickly on the
shoulder. '' That 's pulky [pulque]. I mus' teU you
'bout that, too."

The train started just then, and he waited until it

366

A Pulque Dream 367

was well under way. It was rolling along at a lively
pace, and the brakes were rattling as they only can
over a Mexican railroad. Barcas had to use the very
top of his voice, but he chattered on, just the same.

^^ Yes, Cig, that 's the most important thing this side
the line. Course the langwich 's important, too, 'n' y'u
got to learn it, but y'u mus' understan' pulky first. If
I 'd understood it when I was down here in '78, I 'd
never got into trouble at all. Shorty 'n' Slim was
with me, 'n' a lot o' other blokes that I don't rek'lect.
But we was sixteen altogether. I 'd never been here
before, could n't even say adios, so I thought I 'd jus'
look roun' a bit. An' for nigh on to a month we had
a rip-snortin' time— drunk ev'ry day, 'n' so much to
chew that I actually had to let my belt out a couple o'
notches. An' we learned the langwich, too -, by gosh !
I could say ev'rythin' I wanted to. Course I did n't
wanter say very much, I was so jagged, but I said
enough, anyhow— see?

" Well, this went on for pretty nigh a month, as I
said, 'n' we was sloppin' up ev'ry day— but not on
whisky. We went on the principle, do in Rome as
the Dagoes does ; so we drunk what them Indians was
drinkin', pulky— mighty fine drink, too. Ain't had
such dreams in a tenner as I had then. It jus' makes
you feel 'appy all over, 'n' I use' to dream the whole
twenty-four hours. Once I thought I was the pres'-
dent o' the New York Central— hope to die 'f I did n't.
An' my pal he woke me up one night 'bout twelve
o'clock 'n' told me that he was the Emp'rer o' the
North Pole. An' the rest of 'em was jus' about as
bad. We all thought we was kings 'n' queens 'n'

368 Tramping with Tramps

royal flushes. Even tried to play poker with oursePs,
'n^ I was the jack-pot for a while.

"Well, one afternoon we w^as specially stuck on
oursel's, 'n' went paradin' roun' the hang-out as if we
was the liigh-monkey-monks of ev'rythin'. An' pretty
soon a bloke called Curly soogested that we go over 'n'
steal some more pulky at a Mexy's shanty clos't by.
We was jus' drunk 'nough to do it, 'n' piled over
there 'n' drunk ev'ry drop we could find. An' when
we was through there was n't en'thin' too good for us.
We all thought we was royal families, an' a bloke
called Red thought he was the chief of all. He was a
big fella, 'n' that prob'ly swelled his head— see?
Well, Red swaggered about for a while, 'n' then all of
a sudden he swung his arms up Indian fashion, 'n
says, ' Blokes, let 's take the town.' He meant the'
city o' Mexico, the place we 're goin' to see. Well,
somehow or other it jus' struck us as a grand idee, 'n'
we whooped 'n' hollered 'n' swore we 'd foller 'im.
Pretty soon we started. I was so jagged I could
hardly keep on me pins, but that did n't matter j I was
goin' to help take the city or break my neck.

"It took us nearly four hours to reach the town,
though it was only a mile away. We 'd go a few
steps, y'u know, 'n' then sprawl all over oursel's. I
have to laugh now when I think of it. An' once we
locked arms, thinkin' we could go it more steady-like.
'Fore we 'd taken ten steps we tumbled ka-plunk, jus'
like dominoes when y'u set 'em up in a row 'n' then
knock the firs' one down. Well, that 's the way we
went, 'n' y'u should 'a' seen us when we struck the
town. We looked 's if we 'd drilled two thousand

A Pulque Dream 369

miles, 'n' was blowiu' 'n' a-puffin' like an injin in a
snow-bank. So o' course we had to rest a bit, 'n^
while we was a-doin' it Red gave us instructions.

'^ 'Now, blokes,' says he, 'you want to do yer best.
'Member yer all 'Mericans, 'n' that yer fightin' Mexies.
If we lick 'em it '11 go up in history, dead sure. An'
I '11 bet a sinker it '11 beat that Bally Klavvy bizness
if we do it well. So put in yer best licks, 'n' keep yer
eyes on me.' Then he told us who was of'sers 'n' who
was 'n't. I was nothin' but a sojer, a private, but he
made my pal, the Emp'rer 0' the North Pole, he made
him firs' lef tenant, so I did n't mind much s' long 's he
was somethin'.

"Well, 'bout half -pas' seven in the evenin' we was
ready 'n' still pretty jagged, too. But Red said we
oughter begin, so we started single file for the insides
o' the town. The onty weapons we had was a few ole
razors 'n' our fists, but we was so bughouse we cal'lated
they oughter do the biz. Red said the Mexies was
cowards, anyhow, 'n' that we could do 'em easy
enough ; but he told a big whoppin' lie, 'n' we f oun'
it out, too, 'fore we 'd been scrappin' twenty minnits.
The firs' street we struck where there was many people
we begun fightin', 'n' for a few minnits we did well.
We knocked down ev'rybody we saw, 'n' was so stuck
on oursel's that Red said, 'Now, let 's go to the
prison 'n' free the priz'ners.' That fired us,— a big
scheme,— 'n' we piped off for the jail. But we had n't
gone more 'n two blocks when we was all sewed up.
Seemed 's if ev'ry jay in the town was against us, 'n' I
could n't see en'thin' but heads 'n' heads. Looked 's if
the whole world was there— see ? Red would n't give

370 Tramping with Tramps

in, though, 'n' knocked a pohceman into a cocked hat.
That started the rest of us. We slashed right 'n' left
with our razors, 'n' I put my fist into more Mexies'
faces than y'u can figger up. It reminded me o' the
time I got into that scrap with the bulls [policemen] in
Chi [Chicago]. An' all the while Red was gettin' fiercer.

" ^ Come on, blokes,' I heard him hollerin' ; ' we '11
make history 'fore we 're done. Come on 5 knock 'em
down, 'n' keep yer eyes on me.' Then he waded into
that crowd for all he was worth, 'n' he did it well, 'too.
But they was too many for us; as soon as one
would tumble down another would step into his
shoes, 'n' o' course that beat us.

^' Well, in a few minnits there was only five of us
left, 'n' Red saw 't wa'n't no use to keep on, so he
bellered out, 'Make a break, anyhow, 'n' perhaps
we '11 give 'em the slip.' You should 'a' seen 'im then !
He started right plump for the crowd, wavin' his knife
'n' swearin' like the devil. How he ever got through
I can't tell, but he did, 'n' they ain't caught 'im yet.
The rest of us was so played out that we had to s'render
uncondish'nuUy on the spot. We thought, o' course,
that they 'd treat us like priz'ners o' war, else we 'd kept
on scrappin' till we croaked. But them hoosiers
could n't see the thing in that way, 'n' actually wanted
to lynch us. But some cool-headed bloke got 'em out
o' doin' it, 'n' made 'em take us to the jail, where we
stayed jus' one year. You see, the judge gave us ten
months apiece, 'n' we had to wait two months for trial.

" That 's the way we captured the city o' Mexico, 'n'
lemme tell y'u, Cig, if you 'n' pulky fall in love down
here, don't you try any funny work, 'cause it 's jus'

A Pul(|ue Dream 371

like a woman, pulky is. It tempts you 'n' then leaves
you in the soup."

He had no time for further comment, for the
engineer was already blowing his whistle, and the
lights in the yards could be seen. But Barcas did not
postpone action long. At the first joint we visited he
illustrated the effects of pulque in a manner even more
vivid than his story. The next morning I had to make
a heavy draft on my small exchequer to free him from
limbo.

V
A HOBO PRECEDEIS

THE trouble began in this way:
made up his mind to reform anc
was lying in jail in western Pennsylvf
in company with Chicago Bud anc
cronies. Bud was his chum, and Slin
decision. This was his first mistake,
wants to reform he should say nothing
bodj^, but scamper from the road as
will carry him. Slim knew this perf e<
was so tickled to find that he had n
make the resolution that he was obi
pal. Bud did not exactly see the poi
he patted him on the back just the sj
him good luck. Then Slim made f]
Gal way (the Catholic priest) who vis:
Sundays, and asked him to write a lette

A Hobo Precedent

marched out of their cells pale but hopeful,
course, looked up the Galway immediately
his mouey, and then returned to the park
men were waiting to bid him good-by. J
separating from them, he called Bud aside
few last words with him.

"I 'd like to give you more, Bud," he s
handed him a fifty-cent piece, "but I 'v€
enough for my ticket and a dinner on 1
understan', don't cher?"

Bud did not want to take the money,
pressed it upon him, and then they parted, i
ing for the railway-station, and Bud, with {
for a saloon. They never expected to meet

But the best-laid plans of mice and men
just as easily in Hoboland as anywhere e
Slim simply could not get to the station. I
at every saloon on the way, and by the tim
was ready to leave, his mone}^ was half go
was don't-care drunk. I got a glimpse of ]
afternoon as he stood, or rather staggered, :
a billiard-hall. He was singing some ver
song " Gwine Home." His voice was all ii
and he wheezed out the words like a tired-<
organ. But he was clever enough not

iTnrnn.ri mis alr^c\ In+pr in f.ViA nffprnnnn In.

374 Tramping with Tramps

policeman tried to arrest them they both took it as an
insult, and drew their razors. The officer called for
assistance, and after a severe tussle, in which Bud had
his head badly bruised, they were landed at the police
station. The next morning the magistrate gave them
ninety days apiece.

How Bud ever learned of Slim's conduct remains a
mystery to this day. The Galway did not tell him, I
did not, the other men had left town, and neither he
nor Curly saw Slim in the streets, but he got wind of
it just the same. Possibly a city tramp told him.
"If I ever meet that fella again," he said to some
friends who visited him in the jail the following day,
" I '11 break his head into sixty-seven pieces. W'y, I
would n't have treated a dog that way. I don't care
if he did want to reform ; he had no right to change
his mind without divvyin' that boodle. Fifty cents !
H'm ! He wanted all the good booze himself, that 's
what was botherin' him. But he '11 suffer fer it, take
my tip fer that. He knew well enough that Curly an'
me would drink rot-gut if we could n't get anythin'
else, 'n' he was jus' mean enough to let us do it. Oh,
I '11 teach him such a lesson when I find him that that
thing won't happen again in this country. If he 'd been
square. Curly 'n' me would n't be where we is now."

Everybody knew that Bud was a man of his word,
but fancied, none the less, that his wrath was more the
result of his bruises than of any deep-seated hatred of
his old comrade. Slim had in the meantime looked up
the Galway again and confessed his behavior. He
was so sincerely penitent that the good man bought
him a ticket out of his own pocket, and sent him home.

A Hobo Precedent 375

He stayed there for just three months. Some days
he did very well, hardly swore, and then, without the
slightest notice, he would break through all restraints
and go on a terrible tear. He had been too long on
the road j he could not conquer the wild habits that he
had formed ; they had become an everlasting part of
him; and, one day, when his people thought he was
doing better than ever, he stole away and wandered
back to his old haunts. They never saw him again.

This, I believe, is a straightforward account of the
quarrel, and both Bud's friends and Slim's tell the
same story. It is what happened after this that
divides them into parties. I did not see the fight
myself, but I have heard it described so often that I
believe I can do it justice.

It took place one cold autumn night, nearly two
years after the quarrel, in a barn not far from Newark,
New Jersey. Some twenty hoboes had gathered there
for the night, and Bud was among them. His friends
say that he was in a most peaceable mood and with
no thought of Slim in his mind, but they do admit that
he had been looking for him ever since the separation.
It was almost time to blow out the candle, and sev-
eral of the men had already selected their nooks in the
hay. Suddenly the door squeaked on its rusty hinges,
and three newcomers walked in. The tallest one was
Slim. He recognized Bud immediately, walked up to
him as to an old pal, and said, '^ Well, Bud, old socks,
how are you? S'pose you did n^t expect to see me
again ? I could n't make it go. Bud ; liquor would n't
leave me alone. But shake, anyhow," and he held out
his hand.

376 Tramping with Tramps

It was certainly a friendly greeting, but Bud
returned it with a blow in the face which knocked
Slim off his feet. He was so stunned that all he could
do was to lie there and exclaim against the surprise
Bud had been keeping for him. ''W'y, Bud, have
you gone bughouse ? Don't cher know that I 'm Slim ?
What cher knockin' me about that way for ? "

" Get up out o' that, you long-legged devil, you ! "
cried Bud, in a sudden rage. " Mean to tell me that
you 's forgotten how you did me 'n' Curly with yer rot-
ten fifty cents 1 Well, you 11 'member it 'fore you get
out o' here. Stand up till I put cher face in f er you ! "

Slim was not a coward, and got up and squared for
the row. Then Bud decided that he preferred to fight
with razors, and drew one from under his shirt-bosom.
This was serious, and the crowd gathered around and
asked for explanations. Both men gave their separate
accounts of the trouble. All agreed that Slim had been
greedy, even he himself, and he offered to beg Bud's
pardon; but the majority claimed that the offense
could not be settled that way, and the fight must con-
sequently go on. Nevertheless, several tried to stop
it, and argued earnestly with both men. Slim was
willing enough not to quarrel further, but Bud would
hear of nothing but satisfaction.

'^ I said I 'd do that fella," he cried to those trying
to pacify him, " and I will. Jus' let me alone ; if you
don't, you '11 get the worst of it."

It was no use to argue with him while in such a
mood, and he threw off his coat. Slim did likewise,
and a friend lent him a razor. A Canadian was
chosen for referee.

A Hobo Precedent 377

"Is this thing for a finish?" he asked, as he
examined their razors.

a 7rp ^g ,£ J ^^^ make it so," said Bud, doggedly.

'' And you, Slim ? " queried the Canadian, further.

'' Well," Slim replied, in his slow and measured way,
'^ I guess I '11 do my share ; but before the show begins
I jus' want to ask you a question, Bud. Ain't got any
objections, have you ? "

'^ No } but be spry about it," snarled Bud.

'^ Well, now. Bud, d' you 'member the time when I
took thirty days fer you down in Alabama so that you
could go off 'n' cure yer diseases ? 'Member how we
worked it, don't cher— how I walked in to see you to
let you walk out in my togs ? Guess y' ain't forgotten
that, have you ? "

"What 's that got to do with this circus?" Bud
sneeringly returned.

Slim looked at him steadily, and his friends say that
Bud winced ; but that was all it amounted to, for in a
minute the referee was calling them to action.

"Get ready," he commanded, handing them their
razors.

They pushed the blades back against the handles
and held them tightly with their fingers, leaving the
edges bare.

" Y' all right?" asked the Canadian.

" I am," Bud answered.
''" Here, too," drawled Slim.

"Then drive away," the referee shouted, stepping

back at the same time out of harm's reach; and the

crowd followed his example.

Both men were trained " cutters," and it is said that
21

378 ^ Tramping with Tramps

there has not been another such exhibition of skill of
this sort in Hoboland in the last ten years. There
were three rounds. The first was merely preliminary.
Each studied the tactics of the other and noted his
weak points. It is reported that Slim was not in the
best of form, and that even the referee, on seeing him
parry, advised him to demand a fight with fists 5 but
it was too late. He had warmed to the work, and,
handicapped or not, he intended to see it through.
Slash, slash, slash, went the razors, but all that one
heard was the tiptoeing backward and forward of the
fighters, as they charged or defended. A half -minute
rest, and the third round began. Both Bud and Slim
were badly cut, and their faces showed it, but Slim's
pals claim that Bud was getting the worst of it. They
say that he was misjudging his reach more and more,
and that a wound over his right eye damaged his sight.
This may be true ; at any rate, one of Bud's cronies,
who was holding the candle, suddenly dropped it.
Whether Bud sprang quickly for Slim's neck or was
lively enough to make a pass at him while he was un-
guarded, I cannot say, but when the candle was lighted
again Slim lay on the floor, mortally wounded. He
died that same night in a Newark hospital.

Bud carries to-day a useless right arm and a blind
eye. He is the proprietor of an outcasts' saloon in St.
Louis, and sometimes when in his cups he brags of the
deed done in the barn. But no one has ever heard
him tell that incident of the story which, if not acci-
dent as well, made a dark deed forever darker.

PAET IV
THE TRAMPS JARGON

PART lY— THE TRAMPS JARGON

4 LMOST the first thing that one remarks on get-
J\. ting acquainted with tramps is their peculiar
language. In every country where they live they
have dialects of their own choosing and making, and
the stranger who goes among them must learn to
speak these before he can associate with them on terms
of intimacy. Indeed, the 'tenderfoot" in tramp life,
the beginner, is recognized by his ignorance of the
"lingo." The way he carries himself, shakes hands,
and begs are also signs by which the ''professional" de-
termines the newcomer's standing in the brotherhood ;
but they are not so unmistakable as his use of the
tramp dialect, and it is seldom necessary to talk with
him for more than a few minutes to discover how long
he has been on the road.

On starting out on my first trip among the hoboes,
I thought that I had provided myself with a suflicient
number of words and phrases to converse with them
more or less as one of their own kind ; but I soon dis-
covered how little I knew of their language. My
stock of slang consisted of expressions taken from dic-
tionaries and acquired in association with gamins of
the street, and I was naive enough to think that it
would suffice for companionship with the regular

381

382 Tramping with Tramps

tramps. It is true that the hoboes make use of a
great deal of slang that is popular in the streets and
not unknown to " respectable '' people, but for social
intercourse they rely mainly on their own jargon. In
Germany, where the police collect tramp and criminal
slang into dictionaries, in order that they may be able
to understand the conversations of the Chausseegra-
hentapezirer and Gauner, it is less difficult for one to
pick up the local tramp lingo; but in the United
States there is no dictionary sufficiently up to date to
give the beginner much assistance. Martin Luther
was one of the first in Germany to take an interest
in collecting the vagabond's " cant " phrases. He
published in Latin a small volume, called '' The Book
of Vagabonds," which includes all the tramp slang
he could pick up ; and ever since the publication of
this interesting little work, which is now very rare,
German philologists and policemen have printed,
from time to time, supplementary dictionaries and
glossaries.

In all Continental countries the Hebrew and Gipsy
languages have been levied upon by the tramps for
contributions to their dialects, and even in England
the tramp jargon contains a number of words which
have been imported from Germany, Bohemia, Russia,
and France. In this country, on the other hand, the
tramps have relied largely on their own ingenuity for
cant phrases, and they often claim that expressions
thus invented are much more forcible and succinct
than any that they might have borrowed from for-
eign languages. They think that a good word is
as much the result of inspiration as is a successful

The Tramp's Jargon 383

begging trick; and they believe, furthermore, that
America is entitled to a cant language of its own.

It is easy to see how this dialect originated. It
came into existence primarily as a means of talking in
public without being understood by others than those
intimately connected with the life. It is also true that
some of the words have sprung from those necessities
of expression which ignorance and lack of education
could not supply. In the United States, as a general
rule, thanks to reformatories and prison libraries
the majority of tramps are fairly well read, and can
speak English with considerable correctness ; but it
often happens that they have thoughts and feelings
which their faulty vocabularies cannot make clear,
and they are obliged to invent their own words and
phrases.

Take the word ^' bughouse," for example. As it is
now used it means actually crazy, and when first used
it signified a state of mind bordering on insanity ; but
it was not invented for purposes of secrecy. Old
Boston Mary was the originator of it. Sitting in her
little shanty one day, and talking with some tramps
seated about her, she exclaimed suddenly : '' Blokes,
I 'm bughouse." Asked what she meant, she said:
" I 'm losin' me brain." It hit off exactly her poor,
failing condition, and the word went like a flash all
over America. To-day it is the most popular word in
the lingo for the ordinary word "insane." "Crip-
pled under the hat" is also heard, but "bughouse"
supplants this expression on all occasions when men
talk to their fellows, and not to the public. It is most
interesting to ferret out the origin of these words.

384 Tramping with Tramps

Many of them are so old that no one remembers ex-
actly how they came into popularity, and even about
words more or less modern there are different explana-
tions ; but I have succeeded in a number of cases in
getting fairly trustworthy stories.

In Chicago I met, one day, the man who, according
to report, was the first to use the tramp word for a
Catholic priest, '' Gal way." He was nearly eighty
years old when I saw him, but remembered very dis-
tinctly how he came by it.

" I was battering he said, " one moon [night] on the
Dope [Baltimore and Ohio Railroad], an' a stiff 'e says :
' Blokey, squeal at that house over there— it 's a priest ;
he '11 scoff ye.' I goes over 'n' toots the ringer [bell].
The baldy [old man] 'e comes himself, 'n' asted what I
wanted. ^ I 'm starvin', father,' I yapped, 'n' begun to
flicker. ^ Go 'way, you lazy man,' 'e said ; ' I 've fed ten
like you since noon.' I was horstile. I dunno how the
word come to me, but I yapped it in his phiz : ' Y' ole
Gal way, you, yer an ole hypocrite ' ; 'n' then I mooched.
Lots o' words comes to me that way when I 'm hors-
tile.'^

^^Punk" is another interesting word. Some say
that it comes from the French word ^j«m, and immi-
grated to the United States from Canada, where the
hoboes had heard their Canadian confreres use it 5 and
this may be the case. Certainly it is as near the
French pronunciation as the average vagabond can
come. But a more natural explanation is that punk
being dry, and bread, particularly that given to tramps,
being also often dry, the resemblance of the two im-
pressed itself on some sensitive tramp's mind. The

The Tramp's Jargon 385

disgust with which beggars frequently speak the word
helps to substantiate this theory.

^' Flicker/' meaning to faint, comes from the flicker-
ing of a light, " battering " (begging) from knocking at
back doors, and "bull" (policeman) from the plung-
ing, bullying attitude of these officers when dealing
with rowdies.

A number of words used by tramps are also in
vogue among criminals, who are even more in need
of a secret language than are vagabonds. It must
be remembered, however, that in America at least,
and to some extent in other countries as well, a great
many tramps are merely discouraged criminals, and
it is not unnatm-al that they should cling to expres-
sions which they found valuable when they were more
intimately connected with criminal life. Even as
tramps they are continually making the acquaintance
of criminals, and it is one of their main delights to
be seen in the company of notorious thieves and
burglars ; they enjoy such companionship as much as
certain "middle-class" people enjoy the society of
" aristocrats."

The word " elbow," meaning detective, is one of the
slang terms common among both hoboes and crimi-
nals. It comes from the detective's habit of elbowing
his way through a crowd, and it is the gloomiest
word, as I heard a hobo once say, that the outcast ever
hears by way of warning. Be he beggar or thief, a
shiver invariably runs down his spinal column if a pal
whispers or shouts "Elbow" to him while he is "at
work " in a public thoroughfare. The word " finger,"
which is synonymous with "bull," has very nearly,

386 Tramping with Tramps

but not quite, the same effect, because tlie finger
is in uniform, whereas the elbow prowls about in
citizen's clothes. "Finger" comes from the police-
man's supposed love of grabbing offenders. "They
like to finger us," a hobo said to me, one night, in a
Western town where we were both doing our best to
dodge the local police force. " Some people calls 'em
the eye o' the law, but that ain't what they is ; they 're
the finger o' the law."

" Revolver," or " repeater," is both a tramp and a
criminal term for the professional offender, the man
who is continually being brought up for trial.
" Lighthouse " is one of the most picturesque words in
the lingo. It means a man who knows every detec-
tive of a town by sight, and can "tip them off" to
visiting hoboes and criminals. As mariners at sea
look for the beacon light which is to guide them safely
into harbor, so tramps and criminals look for their
" lighthouse." He is one of the most valuable acquain-
tances in the outcast world, and more advice is taken
from him than from any other inhabitant. Such ex-
pressions as a " yellow one " for a gold watch, a " white
one " for a silver watch, a " leather " for a pocket-book,
and a " spark " for a diamond, explain themselves, and
I have heard them used by others than those in crim-
inal life ; but they are distinctly lingo terms.

" Flagged " is a word which is not so clear, although
it has been taken from the railroader's parlance. It
is used a great deal by pickpockets, and means that
they have allowed a certain person whom they in-
tended to victimize to pass on unmolested. It comes
from the flagging of a train, which can be either

The Tramp's Jargon 387

stopped or made to go on by the waving of a flag.
The person ^' flagged " seldom knows what has taken
place, and every day in city streets people are thus
favored by gracious "dips," or pickpockets. The
dip's companion, the one who bumps up against the
victim or otherwise diverts his attention while the
dip robs him, is called the " stall."

'^Just broken out" and "squared it" are phrases
which very few would understand on hearing them
spoken by tramps and criminals in public. The man
who has "just broken out" is not, as I thought when
I first heard the words, one who has escaped from
limbo, but rather one who has newly joined the fra-
ternity. The term is used in the sense in which it
might be applied to an epidemic. Wanderlust (love
of tramping, thieving, drunkenness) is the disease
with which the newcomer in outcast life is supposed
to be afflicted, and on allying himself with the brother-
hood, the malady is " officially " recognized as having
appeared, or broken out. " Squared it ' I took to mean
that a bargain or a quarrel had been settled, but I was
again mistaken. It signifies that a tramp or crimi-
nal has reformed and become respectable. One who
leaves the "road" for this reason is said to have
" squared it," because he has settled his account with
the brotherhood— he has finished with it.

The word "dead" is practically synonymous with
" squared it." In using it the tramp does not mean
that the pal of whom he is speaking has departed this
life ; " croaked " is the term for that. " Dead " means
that he has left the fraternity and is trying to live
respectably. On one of my tramp trips I was enter-

388 Tramping with Tramps

tained at supper by a carpenter in Detroit, and during
ktlie meal lie confessed that he used to belong to my
"push/' the tramp brotherhood.

" I Ve be'n dead now about ten years," he said. " I
learned my trade in the pen, 'n' when I got out I de-
cided to square it. I was petered out."

On leaving his house he cautioned me not to say
anything to the " 'boes " (hoboes) about his being my
" meal-ticket." This is a tramp term for a person who
is " good " for a meal, and the carpenter did not care
to have this reputation.

When a man denounces to the police a beggar who
has accosted him in the street, the latter, in relating
the experience at the " hang-out," says that the " bloke
beefed" on him (gave him away). In Cincinnati, one
day, I met an old tramp acquaintance who had been
given away by a pal. He had just come out of prison
when I saw him, and looked so poorly, even for a
recently discharged convict, that I asked him for an
explanation.

" Oh, it was a soaker [a sickening experience], Cig,"
he said. " Mike, my pal, he beefed [turned state's
evidence], 'n' the screws [prison officers] they did me
dirt from the start. Got the cooler [dark cell] ev'ry
time I did en'thin'. Had fifteen days there twice. It
was that killed me. But wait till I catch that gun
Mike. It '11 be his last beef if I ever find him."

" Gun " means practically what " bloke," '^ stiff," and
'^plug" do— a fellow; but there is a shade of differ-
ence. It comes from the verb "to gun," to do
" crooked work." Consequently a " gun " is more of
a professional thief than is the " bloke." " Mug," on

The Tramp's Jargon 389

the contrary, is the exact equivalent of " bloke," but
the verb 'Ho mug" implies photography. In some
cities suspicious characters are arrested on general
principles and immediately photographed by the
police authorities. Such towns are called "muggin'
joints," and the police authorities -'muggin' fiends."

Some tramp words are popular for only a few years,
and are then supplanted by others which seem to
make the thing in question more vivid and '' feelable."
Not so very long ago, " timber" was the favorite word
to describe the clubbing given to tramps in certain
''horstile" towns. A hobo has recently written me
that this word is gradually giving way to " saps," be-
cause the sticks or clubs used in the fracas come
from saplings cut down for the purpose.

On account of this continual change it is difficult to
keep up with the grow^th of the language, and in my
case it has been particularly so because I am not
regularly in the life. If one, however, is always in
the way of hearing the latest expressions, and can
remember them, there is not much else in the lan-
guage that is hard. The main rule of the grammar
is that the sentence must be as short as possible, and
the verb omitted whenever convenient. As a general
thing the hoboes say in two words as much as ordi-
nary people do in four, and prefer, not only for pur-
poses of secrecy, but also for general intercourse, if
in a hurry, to use their own lingo.

How many words this lingo contains it is impossi-
ble to say absolutely, but it is my opinion that during
the last twenty years at least three thousand separate
and distinct expressions have been in vogue, at one

390 Tramping with Tramps

time or another, among the tramps and criminals in
the United States. The tramp who wrote to me con-
cerning the word '' timber " added the information that
for practically everything with which the hobo comes
in contact he has a word of his own choosing, and if
this is true, then my estimate of the number of words
that he has used during the last two decades would
seem to be too small ; but I am inclined to think that
my correspondent gives the hobo's inventive powers
more credit than is due them. It is not to be denied
that he has a talent for coining words, but he has also
a talent for letting other people do work which he is
too lazy to do, and my finding is that, although he
has a full-fledged lingo, he is continually supplement-
ing it with well-known English words which he is too
lazy to supplant with words of his own manufacture.
When detectives and policemen surround him, and it
is necessary to keep them from understanding what
is being discussed, he manages to say a great deal
without having recourse to English ; but it is a strain
on both his temper and lingo to have to do this, and
he gladly makes use of our articles, conjunctions, and
prepositions again when out of ear-shot of the eaves-
dropping officers.

So far as I know he has not yet attempted to write
anything exclusively in his jargon which can be termed
tramp literature ; but he knows a number of songs
which are made up largely of tramp words, and his
stories at hang-onts are almost invariably told in
the lingo, or, at any rate, with so little English inter-
spersed that a stranger would fail to appreciate the
most interesting points.

The Tramp's Jargon c^qi

Nevertheless, it is one of the regrets of the hobo
that his dialect is losing much of its privacy. Ten
years ago it was understood by a much smaller num-
ber of people than at present, and ten years hence it
will be known to far more than it is now. There are
hundreds of " stake-men " and " gay-cats " on the road
to-day where there were dozens a decade ago, and they
are continually going and coming between civilization
and Hoboland. The hobo dislikes them, and, when he
can, refuses to associate with them ; but they pick up
his jargon whether he will or no, and on leaving the
road temporarily in order to get a ^^ stake," they tell
the world at large of what they have seen and heard.
In this way the secrets of Hoboland are becoming
common property, and the hobo is being deprived of
a picturesque isolation which formerly few disturbed.

At present he likens himseK to the Indian. '' They
can never kill us off the way they have the Injuns," a
hobo once said to me, '^ but they 're doin' us dirt in
ev'ry other way they can. They 're stealin' our lingo,
breakin' up our camps, timberin' us, 'n' generally hem-
min' us in, 'n' that 's what they 're doin' to the Injuns.
But they can never croak us aU, anyhow. We 're too
strong for that, thank God ! "

No, Hoboland can never be completely depopulated.
It will change with the years, as all things change, but
it is impossible to wipe it off the map. As long as
there are lazy people, discouraged criminals, drunk-
ards, and boys possessed of Wanderlust, Hoboland
will have its place in our social geography, and a
jargon more or less exclusively its own.

3^2 Tramping with Tramps

GLOSSARY

The following collection of tramp words and phrases
is not intended to be at all exhaustive. I have merely
explained the slang used in the text, and added cer-
tain other words which I thought might interest the
reader.

Baldy : an old man.

Ball : a dollar.

Batter : to beg.

Beefer: one who "squeals" on, or gives away, a
tramp or criminal.

Blanket-Stiff : a Western tramp; he generally
carries a blanket with him on his travels.

Blind- Baggage : the front end of a baggage-car
having no door.

Bloke : a fellow ; synonymous with " plug," " mug,"
and " stiff."

Blowed-in-the-Glass Stiff : a trustworthy ^- pal " j
a professional.

'Bo : a hobo.

Brakey ; a brakeman.

Bughouse: crazy.

Bull : a policeman.

Bundle : plunder from a robbery.

Chew : to eat or '^ feed."

Chew the Rag : to talk.

Cm (pronounced "Shi"): Chicago.

CmciE: Cincinnati.

Con : a conductor.

Cooler : a dark cell.

The Tramp's Jargon 393

CoP: a policeman. To be "copped" is to get ar-
rested. A ^' fly-cop" is a detective.

Crib : a saloon or gambling-place ; more or less syn-
onymous with "joint" and "hang-out."

Croak : to die, or to kill.

Crocus : a doctor.

Crook: a professional criminal. " Crooked work"
means thieving.

Dead : reformed. A " dead " criminal is either dis-
couraged or reformed.

Dicer : a hat.

Dip : a pickpocket.

Ditch, or Be Ditched : to get into trouble, or to
fail at what one has undertaken. To be "ditched"
when riding on trains means to be put off, or to get
locked into a car.

Dope, The : the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.

Doss : noun, sleep ; verb, to sleep.

Doss-HousE: a lodging-house.

Duivip : a lodging-house or restaurant ; synonymous
with "hang-out."

Elbow: a detective.

Fawny Man : a peddler of bogus jewelry.

Fence : a receiver of stolen goods.

-P, " [ a policeman ; synonymous with " bull."

Flagged: when a man is said by criminals or
tramps to be " flagged," it means that he is permitted
to go unmolested.

Flicker : noun, a faint ; verh, to faint or pretend

to faint.

Gag : any begging trick.
22

394 Tramping with Tramps

Galway : a Catholic priest.

Gay-Cat : an amateur tramp who works when his
begging courage fails him.

Ghost-Story : any statement or report that is not
true. When told to young boys it means a '^ faked"
story of tramp life.

Graft : a line of business ; synonymous with ^^ spiel."

Grafter : a pickpocket.

GuN: a fellow; more or less synonymous with
" bloke," " stiff," '' mug," and " plug."

Guy : a fellow.

Hand-Out : a bundle of food handed out to a beggar
at the back door.

Hang-Out : the hobo's home.

Hit the Road : to go tramping.

HoBO: a tramp. Derivation obscure. Farmer's
'^ Americanisms " gives: ''Ho-BoY, or Haut-Boy: a
New York night-scavenger."

HoiSTER, or Hyster : a shoplifter.

HoosiER: a "farmer." Everybody who does not
know the world as the hobo knows it is to him a
"farmer," "hoosier," or outsider.

Horn, The: a triangular extension of the Chi-
cago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad, running from
Red Oak, Iowa, southwest some twenty miles, and
then northwest to Pacific Junction on the main line.

HoRSTiLE : angry, unfriendly, hostile.

Jigger: a sore, artificially made, to excite sym-
pathy.

Jiggered : "done," beaten. When used as an ex-
clamation, as in " I '11 be jiggered," it means " I '11 be
damned," or words to that effect.

The Tramp's Jargon 395

JocKER: a tramp who travels with a boy and
" jockers" him— trains him as a beggar and protects
him from persecution by others.

Joint : practically, any place where tramps congre-
gate, drink, and feel at home.

Kip-House : a lodging-house.

Kip Town : a good lodging-house town.

Leather: a pocket-book. ''To reef a leather"
means that the pickpocket pulls out the lining of a
pocket containing the "leather"; this is frequently
the best way of capturing a pocket-book.

Lighthouse: one who knows every detective by
sight, and can ''tip him off" to his comrades.

Main Guy : the leader.

Mark : a person or house " good" for food, clothes,
or money.

Meal-Ticket: a person " good " for a meal.

MoNiKEY : the tramp's nickname, as " New Orleans
Blackie," " Mississippi Red," etc.

Mooch : to beg ; also, to " light out," " clear out."

MoocHER : a beggar. This word is the generic term
for tramps in England.

Mug : noun, a fellow 5 verb, to photograph.

Mush-Fakir : an umbrella-mender. The umbrellas
which he collects are frequently not returned.

Office : to " give the office " is to give a signal to a
confederate. It is usually done by raising the hat.

On the Hog : on the tramp ; also, " busted," " dead
broke."

P. A. : Pennsylvania.

Paper : stocks and bonds.

Pen : a penitentiary

396 Tramping with Tramps

Pennsylvania Salve : apple-butter.

Pennyweighters : jewelry thieves.

Peter : a safe thief. '^ Knock-out drops " are also
'^ peter."

Phillie: Philadelphia.

Plug: a fellow; synonymous with "bloke" and
'' stiff."

Poke-Out : a lunch ; synonymous with " hand-out."

Pound the Ear : to sleep.

Prushun : a tramp boy. An '^ ex-prushun " is one
who has served his apprenticeship as a " kid " and is
''looking for revenge," i. e., for a lad that he can
''snare" and "jocker," as he himself was "snared"
and "jockered."

Punk and Plaster : bread and butter.

Push: a gang.

Q. : the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad,
popularly known as the C, B. & Q.

Queer, The : counterfeit money.

Repeater, or Revolver: an old-timer; a profes-
sional criminal and a "blowed-in-the-glass" tramp.

Ringer : a bell.

Rube : a " hoosier," or " farmer."

Saps : a clubbing with weapons made from sap-
lings; synonymous with "timber." (See below.)

Scoff : noun, food, " nourishment " ; verb, to "feed,"
to " gorge."

Scrapper : a victim of either tramps or ^criminals
who "puts up a fight."

Screw : a prison turnkey.

Set-Down : a square meal.

Settled : in prison.

The Tramp's Jargon 397

Shack : a brakeman.

Shatin' on me Uppers : to be ^' shatin^ " on one's
" uppers " is to be " dead broke."

Shove : a gang.

Shover : a man who passes counterfeit money.

Side-Door Pullman : a box-car.

Sinker: a dollar; synonymous with '^ball."

Slope : to run away.

Slopping-Up : a big drunk.

Snare : to entice a boy into tramp life.

Sneaks : flat or house thieves. A bank sneak is a
bank thief.

Snipe : cigar-butts— the favorite tobacco among
hoboes.

Song and Dance : a begging story or trick.

Spark : a diamond.

Spiel : something to peddle. Hoboes often carry
needles, pins, court-plaster, and the like. On meeting
one another, they ask : ^' What 's your spiel ? " (" What
are you hawking?") (See " graft.")

Spiked : upset, chagrined, disappointed, disgusted.

Squealer : one who gives away the gang.

Stake-Man : a fellow who holds a position only
long enough to get a ^' stake " — enough money to keep
him in ^' booze" and tobacco while he is on the road.
The tramps call him a ^' gay-cat."

Stall : the pickpocket's companion.

Stiff: a fellow; synonymous with "bloke" and
"plug."

Sucker : a victim of both tramps and criminals.

Throw the Feet : to beg, " hustle," or do anything
that involves much action.

398 Tramping with Tramps

Timber : a clubbing at the hands of the toughs of
a town unfriendly to tramps. (See " Saps.")

Tomato-Can Vag : the outcast of Hoboland ; a tramp
of the lowest order, who drains the dregs of a beer-
barrel into an empty tomato-can and drinks them;
he generally lives on the refuse that he finds in
scavenger barrels.

Toot the Ringer : ring the bell.

Turf : the road, or low life in general.

Turf It : to be on the road.

Yap : Mo?m, a farmer or ^^ hoosier " 5 verb, to say or
to tell.

York : New York city.

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